The 72nd Hunger Games: Frost Bite
by Krystal Fox
Summary: After the success of the 71st Hunger Games in the Capitol, the Gamemakers must deliver a truly spectacular arena. For once, Seneca Crane has nothing. Fortunately for him, Rani Glyniss has an idea. How many tributes this year will perish from frost bite?
1. Prologue, Part 1: Where My Heart is

_**PROLOGUE, PART ONE: WHERE MY HEART IS**_

* * *

 **Andromida Nyx Ledè, age 19**

 **Victor of the 71st Annual Hunger Games**

* * *

"Andri! Will you come here already!?"

I groan softly, wondering if there's any way I could pretend not to have heard my sister's yell. Probably not.

"Coming!"

Putting down my copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ and gently tipping my cat out of my lap, I get to my feet and bound downstairs. Veraline is standing in the living room, tapping her foot.

"Hey, Vera," I say. "What's up?"

"You're _mentoring_?"

I wince. I should have known this was coming. "Yes."

" _Why_?"

"Perseus asked me to mentor with him. What was I supposed to do, say no?"

"Yes!"

I roll my eyes. "Come on, Vera. It won't be so bad."

Veraline glares at me. "Just please tell me you're not leaving the kids with me."

"I'm _not_ ," I say indignantly. "Why would I do that?"

"Thank goodness. Because I can barely babysit those two little terrors for half-an-hour without causing a catastrophe."

"They're not little terrors."

Veraline raises one eyebrow skeptically. I stick my tongue out at her.

"Real mature, Andromida."

"Oh, whatever. Are you hungry?"

Vera blinks. "Huh?"

"I'm hungry," I say. "You want some of those leftover sausage rolls?"

"No, you go ahead."

I walk into the kitchen and pull a couple of sausage rolls out of the fridge. I debate putting them in the oven for several minutes before deciding to just eat them cold.

"I don't want you to leave again."

The sound of Vera's voice startles me, and I turn around to stare at her. "What?"

"You've only been back about a year, and I don't want you to leave again."

"Oh, is that what this is about?" I say, sitting down on the couch beside Veraline. "You know I won't be gone that long, right?"

"I know."

"And have you ever heard of a thing called a telephone?"

A smile starts to tug at the corners of her mouth. "All right, fine. Point taken."

"Good. Now are you sure you don't want a sausage roll?"

"Completely. Wanna watch some TV?"

I take a bite of a roll. "Definitely."

Veraline turns on the television, where Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are enthusiastically discussing the upcoming Hunger Games. I roll my eyes. "Do people in the Capitol ever think about anything besides the Hunger Games?"

"Fashion, maybe," Vera says.

We exchange grins, and then turn back to the TV.

"And now, for some other news, please welcome the lovely Carleen Lowri!" Caesar says happily.

I raise one eyebrow. The name Lowri sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it.

A pretty woman in her mid-twenties comes onstage, her silvery-purple hair glinting like polished metal. Her onyx eyes are glittering as if she's keeping a secret and could not possibly be more thrilled about it.

"Hello, Caesar," she purrs, a smile dancing across her face. "I must say it's nice to be back."

"And it's nice to have you back!" Caesar says. "Now, on to the reason you're here. It seems your company, Lowri Labs, has recently had a breakthrough. Am I right?"

Oh. That's where I heard that name before. Lowri Labs. As far as I know, they're some kind of genetics lab. I wonder why the head of the company on this show, though.

"We have indeed, Caesar, and trust me when I say, it's going to be _amazing_."

"How much, exactly, can you reveal?"

"Not a lot, but I can say that this project has been going on for years, and we're all very excited that we're finally seeing results."

"Will this discovery be affecting the Hunger Games?"

Carleen flashes a very white, almost predatory smile. "Not this year, no. But in later years...quite possibly."

"Really? How fascinating!"

"It really is."

By this point, I'm starting to get a weird feeling in my stomach. Anything that could possibly be in the Hunger Games can't be good. At least it doesn't seem like anything'll be changing this year.

Veraline picks up the remote and turns off the TV. "What do you think that was about?"

"I dunno. But I have a sinking feeling," I pat my stomach, "right here."

"Me too."

Silence falls. And then, Vera says, "What do you think they discovered."

"I don't know that either. But I think Lowri Labs is a genetics lab, so..."

My sister's face goes rather pale. I know what she's thinking, because I'm thinking it too.

Mutts.

I have a terrible feeling this has something to do with mutts. Although I don't see how they could possibly get any worse after my Games.

But, then again, Capitolians have always had a talent for turning bad into worse.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," I say, getting up. "Who is it?"

"Your unwilling babysitter."

I almost laugh. "Coming, Esmeralda."

When I open the door, both Esmeralda and Jerrick are standing there, each one holding a baby. "Hey, guys. Did you have fun this morning?"

"No," Jerrick says.

"I was talking to the babies."

"You're a real jerk."

"No more than you."

I take Calliope from Jerrick, and then yell, "Veraline, could you come here and help me out?"

Vera comes out of the living room. "What?"

"Could you take Alistair?"

She rolls her eyes but holds out her arms. Esmeralda looks profoundly relieved once she is no longer holding the baby.

"Come on," I say. "Let's take them upstairs. And please, please, please try not to trip over something and wake them up this time, OK?"

Veraline makes a face at me, but walks more carefully nonetheless.

A few minutes later, the twins are safely sleeping their cribs, and Esmeralda and Jerrick have raided the fridge for snacks. Jerrick is eating an entire dill pickle and Esmeralda has what looks like a bunch of grapes on a skewer stick.

"You two are very weird."

"You should talk," Esmeralda says.

"Yeah, well."

Jerrick and Veraline laugh.

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. "Any food left in there, or have you two cleaned it out?"

"There is, in fact, still food," Jerrick says.

"Oh, good."

"Why is it," says Vera, "that every time someone comes over here to drop something off, they end up staying for hours?"

"It's part of being a Victor," Esmeralda says. "Or, you know, living in the same house as a Victor."

Veraline huffs. "I hate you."

"Yup."

I sigh, smiling and shaking my head.

They say that home is where the heart is.

Well, my heart is here, in the giant house where people come and go like I'm running a bed-and-breakfast.

And I love it.

* * *

 **A/N So that's the first prologue! I still need a couple more tributes, so please submit!**

 **Also, I would like to give a shout-out to twistedservice, who inspired part of my last SYOT and is half the reason I'm writing SYOTs in the first place. So, yeah, thank you!**


	2. Prologue, Part 2: Good to be Back

_**PROLOGUE, PART 2: GOOD TO BE BACK**_

* * *

 **Rani Glyniss, age 29**

 **Gamemaker**

* * *

"Hello, you beautiful little wonder."

The tiny creature inside the containment chamber cocks her head toward the sound of my voice, blinking brilliant purple eyes. She trills softly, opening her mouth to reveal small, pointed teeth.

"Yes," I say, "I _am_ talking to you."

"Please stop talking to it," Carleen says, looking up from the control table. "We're trying to run some tests."

"Fine. But she's a she."

"All right, stop talking to _her_. Better?"

"Much."

I brush my newly-dyed green-and-gold hair out of my eyes, and then lift it off my neck and tie it into a ponytail. I haven't cut my hair in nearly three months, and it shows.

"So. What tests are we running today?"

"Basic stuff," Carleen replies. "Just reflexes, hearing, sight, and so on."

"She's three months old. Wouldn't any problems with those things have manifested by now?"

"Maybe, but I'd like to keep checking, just to be sure."

"Fair enough. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"OK, shoot."

"Are we going to keep calling her 'Test Subject #1', or are we going to give her a name?"

Carleen blinks at me. "You're serious?"

"Yup."

"Sure. You can name her if you want to."

I give her a delighted hug. "Thank you!"

She gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder, and then turns and looks at the control table. "I think we should try the air-horn again for the hearing test. What about you?"

"Sure. Air-horn. Does it really matter what we use to test her hearing?"

Carleen gives me an unimpressed look. " _Yes_ , it matters. You'd think you would understand that."

"Sorry. I'm just a bit distracted."

"Oh. Hunger Games?"

"Yup. It's nearly time for them to start and I need to come up with some new mutts."

"Too bad we can't use this girl, huh?"

I force a smile. "Uh huh."

Of course, I don't really want this little creature in the Hunger Games. She's far too special for that. She's my life's work, my crowning glory. Wait. Crowning glory. Crown.

"I've got it!"

Carleen jumps. "What?"

"Corona!" I point to the containment chamber. "Her name is Corona."

"Ah. OK."

"It means crown in some pre-Panem language."

"Cool."

"Because she's my crowning achievement."

"Awww."

"Oh, stop."

"You asked for it."

"Did not."

"Um, Miss Lowri?"

Carleen and I whirl around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. A young technician is standing there, looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he says, "but we've completed the tests. Everything is still normal."

"Excellent," Carleen says.

A large smile spreads across my face. "Thank you for telling us."

He blushes. "You're welcome, Miss Glyniss."

As soon as he leaves to input the results in the lab records, I turn to Carleen. "Everything's normal! It's been three months and everything is still normal!"

"I know." She looks like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. "We might actually have pulled this off."

"So what's next?"

"A request from President Snow. How do you feel about using that growth serum they use on the mutts on little Corona? With a few adjustments, of course."

"It would be my genuine pleasure. We can get started on those adjustments now, if you want."

Carleen grins. "Sure. After all, they don't need me here."

The two of us head to the actually laboratory part of Lowri Labs, where several dozen doctors and scientists are milling around, working on various projects. Carleen claps her hands, and they all look at her.

"OK, everybody out. Official Project Luminescence business happening here."

There's some grumbling, but they all do as she says. She gives me a wide grin and gestures to the main lab table. "Shall we?"

I smirk. "We shall."

Carleen pulls out a couple of beakers, while I turn on the holotable and pull up the formula for the growth serum.

"This is cool," Carleen says.

"What is?"

"You and me doing science again. It's been way too long."

"I _have_ missed this."

Carli grins and cracks her knuckles. "So. Let's make some magic. Or, should I say, science."

"Either one works."

We both laugh, and then start working. After all, messing with serums and the like can have disastrous side effects, like that misguided attempt to make a super-strength serum in District 2 right after the 65th Annual Hunger Games.

Now that was a catastrophe worthy of remembrance.

I can tell that Carleen is probably thinking along similar lines, because she's uncharacteristically quiet and serious. Of course, part of that might be because her job (and possibly her life) is on the line.

But there is such a thing as being too serious, and I think Carli might be approaching that line. So I say, "Whatever happened to that guy you were dating when I left?"

She gives me an incredulous look, but says, "We broke up like a week later. Just wasn't fitting."

"Too bad."

"Mmmhm. What about you?"

"What do you mean what about me?"

"Dating anyone?"

" _No_ , and I'm very happy about that."

"You've never been any fun."

"So not true."

"What about the New Year's Eve incident?"

"Carli, the cake caught fire. Was I supposed to _not_ put it out?"

"You didn't have to spray everyone with a fire extinguisher."

"So I lost control of it a bit."

"A bit?"

"OK, a lot."

"I see what you're doing."

"Do enlighten me. What am I doing?"

"You're trying to get me to lighten up."

"Is it working?"

"Yes, but you're lucky I can mix dangerous chemicals and talk at the same time, otherwise we'd be in a lot of trouble."

I can't help but laugh at that.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

Carleen rolls her eyes, but drops the subject in favor of carefully dripping a clear green solution into the beaker I'm holding.

The solution hisses, and a small cloud of white smoke pours out.

Carli and I exchange glances.

Then I drop the beaker, and we both hide under the nearest table just as the beaker explodes.

When we come out again, half the table is singed, and there's no sign of the beaker.

"Well," I say, "back to the drawing board, I suppose."

Carleen laughs.

It really is good to be back.

* * *

 **A/N That's the second prologue! I'm overwhelmed by the response to this story! You guys are awesome!**

 **Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	3. D1 Intros: Fairest

_**DISTRICT 1 INTROS: FAIREST**_

* * *

 **Selene Valor, age 18**

* * *

My parents are _finally_ asleep, so now it's time for me to get going. Luxyn, a girl I know from school, is throwing a _huge_ party tonight, and I'm not about to miss it.

I never pass up a chance for a good party.

Wriggling out of my bathrobe, I pull on a hot pink crop-top, a pair of tight black jeans, and extra high-heeled pink pumps. Then I put on my makeup, coating my eyelashes in mascara, painting my lips with lipstick, and contouring my cheekbones so that they look extra dramatic.

I grin at my reflection in the mirror, and then I slip out my window. My house only has one floor, so it's pretty easy.

There's a car waiting out front with some other kids from my neighborhood who are also going to the party.

"Hey, Sel!" a girl with dark curls and sparkling amber eyes says.

I think her name is Shimmer.

"Hey!" I reply.

"We ready to rock this?" the boy who is driving says.

I grin at all the other people crammed in the car.

"Yes!" we all say.

"I can't hear you..."

"YES!"

"That's the spirit! Now let's do this!"

"WHOOHOO!"

A few minutes later, we pull up outside Luxyn's house, which is lit up like a firework. The whole house pounds with loud music, and there's a steady stream of people heading inside.

I grin to myself. Finally, a _really good_ party.

Luxyn herself is standing in the doorway, letting people in. Her long, auburn waves are pinned back from her face, and she's wearing a sequined minidress that is shorter than most shorts.

"Hi, Selene!"

"Hey, Luxe. Great party!"

"Thank you! You can come in." She turns to Shimmer, who is standing behind me. "Shim! How awesome -"

I don't hear the rest of her sentence. The music's too loud.

Strobe lights flicker across the dance floor in such brilliant colors that a person could go blind from looking at them too long. A bartender is serving almost poisonous-looking drinks with umbrellas and cherries in them. Everyone's clothes are sparkling and rainbow-colored.

This is _exactly_ where I belong.

I snag a brilliant purple drink from a passing waiter and throw it back in one gulp. It tastes like blueberry and soda pop, with a bite of alcohol at the end. Perfect.

"Selene? Selene Valor?"

I turn around at the sound of a slightly familiar voice. A handsome, blond-haired boy is standing there, staring at me. While this is not an unusual occurrence, I would like an explanation.

"Sorry, who are you?"

He blinks. "I'm -"

Whatever he says next is lost in a loud bout of cheering, coming from where Luxyn's younger sister, Gracella, is dancing on the table. I laugh and whoop right along with the rest of the crowd, and, when I turn around, the boy is gone.

Oh, well. His loss.

Within about twenty minutes, I've downed several more drinks, danced with six different boys (and made out with four of them), and eaten what is probably my body weight in sugary snacks. I love parties, because nothing matters but fun at a party.

At a party, you can dress up in pretty clothes and flirt with boys you've never seen before, and no one makes fun of you for it.

And I'm _always_ at my best at a party.

In fact, you could say I'm the queen.

The fairest of them all.

Now that's an idea I could _totally_ fall in love with.

* * *

 **Bryan Hart, age 18**

* * *

Sometimes, I really hate training on Monday mornings. Not because I dislike training, but because half the people who come to the Academy are hungover from partying over the weekend.

Why everyone in this District feels the need to party _all the time_ , I'll never know.

I'd prefer to concentrate on training, so that I don't die in the Hunger Games.

Even some of the trainers are hungover this morning. What the heck happened?

Never mind. I probably don't want to know.

I swing my mace at a dummy, taking its head clean off. One of the trainers claps, and I give her a smile. At least she's not hungover.

"Hey," she says. "Kid. I think you're done for the day."

"What?"

"You've been here since, what, six o'clock this morning?"

I nod.

"It's almost noon now. That's five hours. Go home."

Startled, I look at the clock, and, sure enough, it's almost twelve o'clock. What do you know?

"All right," I mutter, hanging up my mace.

The trainer smiles. "You know, if you keep this up, you might just get picked to volunteer."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I decide to forgo a shower in order to get home faster. Besides, the boys' showers at the Academy aren't the cleanest.

As I walk home to the Victors' Village, I can't help but smile. I could get picked to volunteer. I have a chance.

Mom'll be so proud.

"I'm home!"

"Already?" my mother asks, poking her head out of the kitchen.

"Yeah. They said I could come home."

"Well, all right. How'd it go?"

"Really good, actually. A trainer said I might get picked to volunteer."

The next instant, Mom is hugging me. "Oh, how wonderful! Marc! Did you hear this?"

"What?" Dad asks, coming downstairs.

"Bryan might be picked to volunteer this year!"

A wide smile splits Dad's face. "That's great!"

"I know!"

I'm smiling like an idiot, but I can't help it. My parents always get so excited over things like this. Of course, I'm pretty excited, too. This is what I've trained since I was five years old to do.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, Mom."

"All right, sweetheart. Oh, and guess what?"

I pause halfway up the stairs. "What?"

"Your mentor will be Perseus Belcourt! You remember him, right?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Oh, this is so exciting!"

I laugh and run the rest of the way upstairs, ducking into my bathroom and closing the door.

As I take off my clothes to shower, I glance at myself in the mirror. With my buzz-cut, dirty blond hair and hazel eyes, I'm not the handsomest boy in the District.

But that's OK.

I don't need to be the fairest of them all to win the Hunger Games.

* * *

 **A/N Thanks to PurpleFrenchFryAmy and Team Shadow for Selene and Bryan! They're great!**

 **I hope you liked this, and please review!**


	4. D2 Intros: Never Let Go

_**DISTRICT 2 INTROS: NEVER LET GO**_

* * *

 **Juno Montgomery, age 18**

* * *

My foot taps against the ground, beating a rhythm onto the concrete. It feels like I've been waiting forever, but it's actually only been about twenty minutes.

I wish my last name began with the letter a. Then I could have gone into my final assessment twenty minutes ago, but nooooooo. Seriously, I don't know why the trainers are even bothering with the assessments this year.

Everyone knows I'm District 2's next Victor, so why give these other kids false hope?

It doesn't make sense to me.

"Montgomery, Juno."

My head snaps up at the trainer's voice and I bound to my feet, practically sprinting into the assessment room. I imagine this is what the private sessions will look like, a bunch of older people with clipboards and pens, waiting to analyze my performance.

And I'm about to give them a show to remember.

I grab a sword off the rack and proceed to destroy several dummies. Then I head over to the target range and fire off a few shots with a bow, and then, to end my assessment, I run the Gauntlet.

The Gauntlet is most trainees worst nightmare, but it's my favorite thing. It's basically a giant obstacle course, with balance beams and mud holes and all that good stuff.

It's also the perfect way to prove to the trainers that I'm the best.

I run the Gauntlet in five minutes and twenty-five seconds, breaking my personal record. The trainers seem impressed as I leave.

And well they should be.

When I step out of the assessment room, over half the trainees that are left are glaring daggers at me with their eyes. They're just jealous.

Nearly half-an-hour later, "Zandon, Keith" finally comes out of the assessment room, and then it's time for the big announcement.

I have no doubt that they will pick me. It's just a matter of who will be my District partner.

"All right, trainees," a trainer says, coming out of the assessment room. "This is the moment you've all been waiting for: The unveiling of our chosen volunteers." He clears his throat. "Representing the boys: Damien Pinot!"

A hulking boy from the back of the room raises his fist in silent celebration. I look him over appreciatively. He's definitely a worthy District partner.

"And, representing the girls: Juno Montgomery!"

I grin widely, getting to my feet and bowing theatrically. I can feel the glares getting more heated on the back of my neck, but I don't care.

This is my big chance to become something more than this District could make me, and I'm never going to let it go.

* * *

 **Damien Pinot, age 18**

* * *

Even though it's been nearly three hours, I still can hardly believe I was chosen to compete in the Hunger Games. To the people of District 2, this is the ultimate honor.

But, more importantly, this will be the ultimate honor to my family. Maybe they'll stop shunning me now.

I shake my head to clear it as I walk through the front door of my house. My younger sisters, Sophia and Hadria, are sitting at the kitchen table.

"Oh, look," Sophia says nastily, "it's the loser."

Hadria grins. "So, loser, who got picked to volunteer today? I'll bet it wasn't you."

"Actually," I say, relishing this moment, "I was picked. I'm going to volunteer."

Both of their mouths drop open in unison.

"WHAT?" Sophia screeches.

Hadria doesn't say anything, just sits there, mouth open and looking like an idiot.

I can't help but grin at the looks on their faces. This is one of the best days I've had in a long time.

The smile stays on my face as I make my way up to my room, passing my father's wing of the house on my way up. For a brief moment, I entertain the notion of going up there and telling him.

But then I remember that he probably won't care unless I actually win.

I climb up the stairs and open the door to my room. My mother is sitting on my bed.

"Hey, Mom," I say.

"Hi, Damien. How'd it go today?"

Her voice is sympathetic, and I feel a swell of excitement filling my veins. "Mom, I got picked."

To my surprise, her face falls, filling first with disbelief, and then with sorrow.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"You know how I feel about the Games," she whispers.

"I do. But you know how Dad and Sophia and Hadria treat me. They won't stop unless I do this."

Mom rubs a hand over her eyes. "I know. Oh, I know."

"Then you know I have to volunteer."

She drops her head into her hands and sighs deeply. "I do. And I can only hope you'll come out alive."

I giver her a one-armed hug. "I will. Trust me."

Mom smiles sadly at me, and then gives me a kiss on the cheek. "All right. I trust you."

"Thanks."

She smiles again, and then she gets up and leaves. I flop backward on my bed, my head spinning with a mix of joy and sadness, doubt and confidence, fear and bravado, two opposing wants warring with each other. At the same time, I want to stay here with my mother, and I want to prove myself to my father and the rest of the District. My thoughts are all confused, but I do know one thing.

Once I'm in the arena, no one will be able to hurt me. Not like I've been hurt here. Not like my sisters and my father can hurt me. In there, all my hurts will be physical.

And physical I can deal with.

I just have to hold on to that, and never let go.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	5. D3 Intros: The Sun Still Rises

_**DISTRICT 3 INTROS: THE SUN STILL RISES**_

* * *

 **Raena Medakan, age 17**

* * *

The rooftops of District 3 are quiet. Peaceful, even. And because of this, they are unique.

I've always been fond of unique things. Maybe that's why I like it up here so much.

"Hey, Shadow."

My head whips around, my eyes falling on the tall, lithe form of my best friend, Alyssane. A lazy grin spreads across her face, and the she plops herself down beside me.

"What's up?" she asks.

I roll my eyes. "Well, I was enjoying some peace and quiet, but I guess that's not gonna happen now."

Alyssane snorts, but doesn't deny it. She can't. For a thief, she's one of the loudest people I know.

"Come on, Raena, you gotta come down. You know there's a Guild meeting today."

I sigh. For a Thieves' Guild, the Black Wolves certainly have a lot of meetings. But, then again, I can't complain. The Black Wolves are pretty much the only reason I'm alive.

"I'm coming, don't worry."

Alyssane smirks. "You'd better hurry. Arthur's waiting."

A genuine smile spreads across my face at the thought of my boyfriend. "Well, then, let's go."

"Race you!"

I laugh as Alyssane sprints off, her feet pounding against the concrete of the roof, and then I follow her. Racing on rooftops might seem crazy to most of the District, but Al and I are thieves. We're used to living life on the edge.

Five minutes later, my feet touch the ground, my hands uncurling from around the metal rungs of a ladder. Alyssane drops down next to me a few seconds later, panting heavily and scowling.

"I hate you."

I laugh. "Not my fault you're not a fast runner."

"Shut up."

Holding back another laugh, I poke her in the shoulder. She glares at me, eyebrows raised. I jerk my head in the direction of the Black Wolves' headquarters. This type of silent communication is common for us; it has to be, what with the amount that our job requires us to stay silent.

Alyssane groans, pushing herself off the wall she was leaning against. "Come on, let's go."

"Thought you'd never ask."

We run into Arthur at the end of the alleyway. Literally.

I nearly fall over, and Alyssane rockets into the alley wall.

"Sorry!" he yelps. "I didn't see you guys there."

"'S fine," Al says, blinking rapidly. "I didn't need my eyes to focus anyway."

Arthur's looks even more concerned at that, but then Alyssane smirks, and he sighs deeply. "I really loathe you."

I laugh, grabbing their arms. "Come on, losers. Let's go have a meeting."

"This is not going to end well," Arthur announces.

"Why?" Al asks.

"Because you're going to be there."

"You can let some of them go by!"

"But that takes all the fun out of it!"

I roll my eyes as my Al and Arthur continue to banter. A lot of people would say my life is pretty awful, what with the fact that I'm basically homeless, that I'm part of a gang, that I'm a thief, and so on.

And sometimes, I do think that. I wonder how my life could have gone downhill so fast.

But it's at times like these, when my stomach is relatively full, and I'm not being chased by Peacekeepers, that I remember something.

No matter how dark it gets, the sun still rises.

* * *

 **Valerian Engel, age 17**

* * *

"Val! Val!"

I glance up and see my sister standing in front of me, grinning.

"What's up, Irie?" I ask.

"I need your help," she says.

"What did you do?"

" _Nothing_."

I raise one eyebrow in disbelief. "Really?"

"OK, fine." She huffs. "Come with me."

Irie opens the front door, and my jaw drops in amazement, because standing there, on our front porch, is the most bedraggled, filthy puppy in the entire world.

"He followed me home!" she wails. "I didn't know what to do!"

"Wow," I say, kneeling down in front of the puppy. "Mom is going to freak out."

"I know!"

The puppy bumps his head against my hand, as if asking for affection. I pet his tiny head, a smile spreading across my face. "He's kinda cute."

Irie grins. "So you'll help me?"

"Yeah, fine."

She laughs. "Great! By the way, I named him Merlyn."

"Cool," I say, scooping the puppy off the ground. "Maybe that'll help Mom feel more inclined to keep him."

"Ha ha ha."

The two of us go back inside, little Merlyn squirming in my arms.

"Mom!" Irie yells. "Mom?"

"I don't think she's home," I say. "Which might actually be a good thing."

"Why?"

"Because now we can clean this boy up before she gets here. Can you go get one of those old towels from Mom's rag bag?"

"Sure."

She heads upstairs, the old, wooden stairs creaking beneath her feet, and I go find a bucket and fill it with water. The puppy starts squirming more, as if he's just realizing that he's getting a bath. I laugh to myself as I pour soap into the bucket.

Just then, Irie comes bounding down the stairs, holding a ragged blue towel. "Here you go, Val."

"Thank you," I say. "You wanna help me with this?"

"Sure," she says, kneeling down next to me.

Merlyn squirms like a snake as I put him in the water, but within about thirty seconds, he's quite calm, batting at the water with his paws and snorting into the bubbles. Irie spends the entire time cooing about how adorable he looks, leaving me to actually give the dog a bath.

And then we take him out of the tub, and everything goes downhill from there. The puppy wriggles out of my arms, knocks over the bucket, and goes on a rampage through the house. Irie screams, and I start chasing him around with the towel.

That's about when Mom walks through the door with my other sister, Faline.

"Hi, Mom!" I yell as I run past her. "We now have a dog!"

Mom's jaw drops. "WHAT?"

I laugh as I keep chasing the puppy, hearing Mom's shrieks behind me. Finally, Merlyn stops running, and I scoop him up with the towel.

The kitchen is freaking soaked when I get back, and Irie's on her hands and knees with another one of the old towels, trying to mop up the mess. Mom has (fortunately) calmed down a little bit, but she still looks slightly horrified.

I drop the puppy into Faline's arms, and then look at Mom. "We can keep him, right?"

Irie gives her the big, sad eyes, and I fight back a laugh. As much as she tries to deny that she's anything like me and Faline, she's already pretty good at getting away with stuff.

I'm very proud of her.

Mom crumbles as soon as she gets a good look at Merlyn, and then she heads out to buy dog stuff. Irie goes with her, and Faline heads up to her room after giving me a quick thumbs-up.

I flop down on the couch, still very wet, but smiling.

My life is pretty great.

And I know that no matter how dark the night is, as long as I have my family, the sun still rises.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**

 **P.S. I'm so sorry for how late this is.**


	6. D4 Intros: To the Stars

_**DISTRICT 4 INTROS: TO THE STARS**_

* * *

 **Mara Glade, age 16**

* * *

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbles up in my throat, and I cover my mouth with my hand. I'm standing waist-deep in the ocean, clinging to the back of a large boat. The boat's motor starts, and Pristella winces slightly.

"I'm not so sure about this," she whispers.

"Come _on_ ," I hiss. "I do this all the time, don't worry."

"Yeah, well, you're insane."

"I am not! You're just boring!"

The boat starts to move, and I tighten my grip, my entire body starting to shake with excitement. Pristella bites her lip so hard a bead of blood forms on her mouth.

In an instant, we're fairly flying across the water, me screaming with joy and Pris screaming with terror. Hopefully no one on the boat will be able to hear us over the crashing waves and the shrieking seagulls.

All too soon, the boat stops, and the fishermen on board throw out their nets. I sigh unhappily and let go of the back of the boat.

"Come on," I whisper. "We gotta go now, otherwise they'll catch us."

"Oh, thank goodness," Pristella gasps.

I glare at her, and push off the back of the boat, swimming off into the cool water. Pristella follows me, like she always does. I splash her in the face, and she's squeaks.

"You really wanna start this?" she asks.

"Oh, yeah."

She splashes at me, so I duck underwater and grab her ankle, tugging her under. Pris utters a watery shriek and nearly kicks me in the face.

"Do you surrender?" I yell when I finally let her go.

"Fine!" she squeals. "Fine!"

I laugh. "I am the Splash Queen!"

Pristella rolls her eyes and starts paddling toward shore again.

After nearly thirty minutes of swimming, we make it back to the docks. I drag myself out of the water, dripping all over the place. I brush a strand of soaked dirty blonde hair behind my ear and stretch out on the warm sand.

"Was that awesome or what?" I ask.

Pris groans. "Not awesome. Not in the slightest." She sighs. "You know, you're going to volunteer in like, a week. Shouldn't you be training?"

"Oh, come on! You know I'm the top of my class at the Academy! I don't need to train any more than I already have!"

"All right, all right. Fine. But don't blame me if you die in the Hunger Games!"

I roll my eyes. "I hate you. And you know I'm not going to die. I'm too good for that."

Pristella laughs and whacks my arm. "I'm gonna go home. See you tomorrow at training?"

"OK."

As soon as Pristella leaves, I get up and head for the town square. If I go home now, my parents will want to know where I've been, and then there'll be yelling, and I'll end up grounded. Again.

No one in my family understands me. Even my little sister has turned against me.

Well, once I win the Hunger Games, I won't need any of them.

And they're certainly not going to get invited to live in my house in the Victors' Village.

Because I'm going to the stars, and no one, _no one_ , is going to stop me.

* * *

 **Caspian Vale, age 18**

* * *

"So, here's...a bunch of books."

I drop a pile of chemistry books on my twin sister's desk.

Minerva laughs. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome."

"OK, see you later," Minerva says, sounding slightly distracted. "Have fun at your...thing."

"I'm going on a date with Lyra," I say. "You know, your friend?"

"Uh huh. Sure."

"So, my hair is on fire."

"OK. In a little bit."

I sigh impatiently and turn to leave, pulling on my jacket as I walk out the door. Lyra is waiting for me on the beach, wearing a tight, dark green dress and a bright smile. Her long, silky hair blows back in the breeze as she runs toward me. I pick her up and spin her around.

"Ready to go?" I ask.

"Yup," she says.

We walk over to a little seaside restaurant that serves fried fish and pretty much nothing else. But it's our favorite place to eat, because we had our first date there.

"Ah, fish," I say. "I've never had that before!"

Lyra laughs and rolls her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Yeah, but I don't why."

I fake a hurt expression. "I am offended!"

She kisses me. "Better?"

"Much."

Lyra smirks as a waiter brings us plates of food. I grin and pick up a greasy piece of fish, popping it into my mouth. Lyra makes a fake-disgusted face and then pops one of her own pieces of fish into her mouth.

Just then, I look at my watch. "Crud."

"What's wrong?" Lyra asks.

"I gotta go. I'm supposed to get a couple of hours of training a day if I want to keep my spot as the chosen volunteer."

"That's weird," Lyra says. "Mara Glade got picked as the chosen volunteer over a week ago, and I haven't seen her training since."

I shake my head, not really caring about what the Academy's resident wild child is up to. "Whatever. I gotta go." I give her a quick peck on the lips. "See you later?"

"Yeah, see you."

I get up from the table and head toward the Academy. I'm the chosen volunteer for this year's Hunger Games, and I intend to make the most of my chance. I intend to make my trainers, and my parents, and my siblings proud.

My family always says that I'm going to go far. And I will.

I'm going as far as I possibly can.

I'm going to the stars.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	7. D5 Intros: Sparks Fly

_**DISTRICT 5 INTROS: SPARKS FLY**_

* * *

 **Elle Croshart, age 15**

* * *

The cafeteria at school is always impossibly loud, and today is no exception. Luckily I don't mind the noise. In fact, I'm the cause of it, a lot of times.

"Did you hear about Loisel and her boyfriend?" one of my friends, Kaitlin, says delightedly.

"No," Wire says, her eyes going large. "What happened?"

"Oh, come on, guys," Electrii groans. "Can't we just -"

"What happened?" I interrupt, leaning forward on my elbows.

Normally I'm not one for gossip, but Loisel Gold is dating the mayor's son. If something's up with them, then I'm _definitely_ interested.

"Well," Kaitlin chirps, "apparently Loisel caught Tiernan behind the school building, making out with Isabeth Voltz. And naturally, Loisel was _not_ happy, so she punched Isabeth right in the nose, so Isabeth pulled her hair, and Tiernan tried to pull them apart. So then they both turned around and just _let him have it_. And now they all have detention. Apparently the principal's exact words were 'for the rest of their time at school'."

An incredulous laugh explodes out of my mouth. "Isn't Isabeth the tiny little girl who is, like, 5'0"?"

"Yeah. With the explosion of unnaturally bright orange curls," Wire says, gesturing around her head. "And the orange freckles."

"Wow," I say in amazement. "Who knew she was such a spitfire?"

"Tiernan and Loisel, I would imagine," Electrii says. "And the whole rest of the school, if Kaitlin has anything to say about it."

Kaitlin shakes her dark hair out of her eyes and sticks her tongue out.

I snort into my tasteless mashed potatoes. Seriously, if the food here gets much worse, it won't be edible at all.

"Are we done talking about stuff that isn't any of our business, or does Kaitlin have more lovely anecdotes to share?" Electrii asks, popping a grape in her mouth.

"I'm done," Kaitlin says. "Although did anybody hear -"

"No."

"But -"

"Really no."

"Oh, come on."

"Nope."

Kaitlin huffs and slouches backward in her chair. "I don't like you anymore."

Electrii gives her a thumbs-up.

Wire and I burst into delighted giggles. Honestly, Kaitlin and Electrii could start their own TV show. It would consist entirely of Kaitlin annoying the crap out of Electrii, but it would still be hilarious.

I pop the last bite of my bread into my mouth with a smile and pick up my tray as Kaitlin, in spite of Electrii's admonishments, starts off another tale of the teenage drama that goes on at our school. And probably every other school in Panem.

Although, I have to admit, I can't get enough of drama.

I love to watch sparks fly.

* * *

 **Thomas Sparks, age 15**

* * *

I carefully braid two wires together, my fingers flying. Beside me, my sister, Ginny, is also braiding wires, but at a much slower pace. I don't blame her though; I've done this much more often than her.

"Ugh!" she yelps, tossing her fourth bundle of irreparably tangled wires to floor. "I'm just not getting this!"

I give her a soft smile. "Do you want me to show you again?"

"No. I'll just go pick up the spare parts you need from Mrs Tesla."

"All r-" I start to say, but she's darted out of the garage before I can finish my sentence.

I sigh. Ginny never did have much patience.

Turning back to my perfectly braided strand of wires, I tie off the end and then pick up another bundle. I can hardly wait until this latest project of mine is done. Maybe this will be the invention that finally gets my family some real money.

Hopefully.

But then again, I've thought that before, and we're still as poor as ever. Not as poor as many people in this District, but not rich, either.

I shake my head to clear it and resume braiding wires. This particular machine will, if it works right, help mend clothes, like the pre-Panem sewing machines. There aren't many of those left, but I managed to get my hands on an old, broken down one, and now I'm trying to recreate it. With a few improvements, of course.

I've just completed the final wire braid when Ginny pedals into the garage on her rusty bicycle, a large sack slung over the handlebars. She grins at me and hops off the still-moving bike before pulling it to a stop.

"Got your spare parts," she says, upending the sack near where I'm kneeling.

I yelp and cup my hands around the small coil of braided wire. "Careful!"

Ginny rolls her eyes and drops the sack. "Whatever. Are you gonna be done soon? The sun's going down and Mom and Dad'll be coming home. And I'd hate for you to miss dinner."

Her tone of voice tells me she really wouldn't mind. I don't blame her though. If I'm not there, that means more food for the rest of them.

"I'll be done. I think."

Ginny nods and then plops down beside me. "Can I help?"

"You could weld those two large pieces of metal together."

My sister's eyes light up with delight. She gets a strange enjoyment from welding, hammering, and cutting things. She scoops up the two pieces of metal, inspects them for a moment, and then grabs her welding torch and a welding mask.

Before too long, the torch is sputtering behind me. I can feel the heat on the back of my neck.

I begin the slow process of putting together the intricate inner workings of my machine, while Ginny makes the protective outer casing. We make quite a team, on the rare occasions that I can convince her to help me. Or when she has nothing else to do.

Time flies past, and, before I know it, it's dark out, the sun having fully set. My parents still aren't home, but that's not too unusual. They often have to stay late at the plant, and they might have picked up extra shifts in order to earn more money.

I hear Ginny sigh with satisfaction behind me, and I smile to myself.

"Done?"

"Done."

I can _hear_ the grin in her voice.

"Then let's put it together."

The next few minutes go by in a blur as I painstakingly put my machine together. By the time I'm done, Ginny is rocking anxiously back and forth on her heels, something she only does when she's impatient.

"Can we test it out now?" she asks.

"I think so."

She grabs the wire eagerly and plugs it into the plastic outlet.

There's a moment of silence, and then the machine begins to hum. Ginny shrieks with delight, but I'm not so sure.

The next instant, there's a sputtering noise, and then -

An explosion. Sparks fly.

Whoops.

* * *

 **A/N First of all, I am so, so, so, so _so_ incredibly sorry for how late this is. Second of all, I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	8. D6 Intros: Safe and Sound

_**DISTRICT 6 INTROS: SAFE AND SOUND**_

* * *

 **Cristina Ford, age 18**

* * *

The rusty, jangling ring of my alarm clock pulls my from a wonderful dream that fades the second I open my eyes. A sigh escapes my lips as I glance out the window, taking in the gray sky and eternally smoky skyline.

Just another Sunday in District 6. Except not really.

I put on a nice gray blouse and a pair of black pants before brushing my long, brown hair until it's silky smooth and shining. Next, I put a flick of mascara on my eyelashes and blush of red gloss on my lips. Finally, I scoop up my favorite pair of high heels and tuck them into my dark green messenger bag.

I can't be wearing heels for what I'm about to do.

I carefully unlock and throw open my window, poking my head out to make sure no one's watching. Then I quietly slip out and onto the fire escape, shutting the window behind me. I race down the rusty metal steps, incredibly glad for my thick socks.

The stairs stop about three feet about the ground, why, I'll never know, so I have to jump the rest of the way. I land on the wet grass with a soft thud and exhale with relief.

That part always stresses me out.

Shaking my head to clear it, I pull off my socks and slip my feet into the high heels. Then I fluff up my hair a little bit and start walking. Hopefully, I'll be back before my parents even wake up.

I haven't gotten caught yet.

My house is in the nice(ish) part of District 6, with an actual front lawn (which is actually just a scrap of soil and grass, but oh well) and it's two stories tall. Basically, my neighborhood is the exact opposite of the place I'm heading.

I have to admit, I'm always a little jumpy when I head into the bad part of the District, but, where I'm going, no one will bother me.

The large warehouse looms in front of me, every detail familiar, down to the broken front window and the spray of graffiti on the left side. I grin to myself as I knock on the front door. A peephole flies open, and a large, forest green eye stares out at me.

And then eyes owner shouts in delight. The door flies open.

"Cris!" Mercedes, a pretty girl with auburn hair, yells.

She throws her arms around me, and I laugh. "Hey, Mercy. And I told you not to call me Cris."

"Oh, you're no fun. Come on in, he's waiting for you."

My eyes light up at the sound of that, and my cheeks heat up. Mercedes snorts and tugs me inside, slamming the door behind us.

"Ben!" she calls. "Come and lock the door!"

Benz, Mercedes's twin brother, darts out from behind a barrel, waving at me as he goes past. I shake my head, stifling a laugh with one hand.

"Is he really waiting?"

Mercy snorts. "Been waiting since sunup. So please go put him out of his misery."

I laugh again, slipping my hand out of Mercedes's grasp and taking off at run. I run to the very back off the warehouse, behind a moth-eaten blue curtain. I nearly rip the curtain off it's hooks in my anxiousness to get to what (or rather who) is behind it.

"Jax!"

He whips around, dark eyes lighting up to a brilliance that rivals the sun. "Cristina!"

I take a step forward, and he meets me halfway, our lips crashing into each other with desperate passion. When we finally break the kiss, he leans his forehead against mine, and I feel as if my heart might burst from joy.

"Remember that thing I said about me not sneaking out so often because my parents don't like you?" I say breathlessly.

"Yeah?"

"Screw it."

Jax laughs softly. "Does that mean you'll be coming here more?"

"Oh, definitely."

He grins and wraps his arms around my waist, and then we're kissing again.

And even though I'm in the worst part of the District, I know that here is where I'm safe and sound.

* * *

 **Jairus Muldoon, age 13**

* * *

"Jairus! What the heck is this?"

My head snaps up at the sight of my oldest sister, Vivienne, stomping toward me, holding up a tattered flower-print dress. Uh oh.

"Um..."

"I'm waiting!"

"Well, Lysander and I were playing pirates yesterday, and we needed a sail -"

"So you used my _Reaping dress_?"

"It was Lysander's idea!"

That's not technically true, but Vivienne is the only one in our family who wears long dresses. And anyway, Lysander _was_ the one who suggested we use a dress.

"And now I'm going to have to wear _last year's_ dress again! Do you realize how this is going to make me look? I barely managed to afford a new dress this year! Are you listening to me?"

I jump slightly. "What? Uh - I mean - yeah!"

Vivienne huffs furiously. "Never mind. Just find a way to fix this."

She tosses the dress in my lap, turns on her heel, and flounces off. I sigh deeply and pick up the dress. Unfortunately, it's in pretty bad shape. Maybe it was a bad idea for Lysander to try to slide down the 'sail' with a knife like in those pre-Panem movies after all.

Oh, well. I'll work on it later. Maybe I can get Mom to help or something.

I'll figure it out.

For now, I have to go meet up with Lysander so we can go play at the railroad yard. There's supposed to be a train coming straight from the Capitol, to pick up...something. I wasn't really paying attention when Lysander explained to me.

The point is, I get to see a real Capitol train. Surely Vivienne will understand that that's more important than her dress. Besides, her Reaping dress from last year was pretty enough, all gauzy blue material and embroidered daisies.

Pretty.

My mind made up, I drop the dress to the floor and run out of my bedroom.

And anyway, I'm sure Preston or Tilia will help me out with Vivienne's dress.

As long as I have my siblings to help me out, I know that I'll be safe and sound.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	9. D7 Intros: A Million Miles Away

_**DISTRICT 7 INTROS: A MILLION MILES AWAY**_

* * *

 **Maple Sylvester, age 14**

* * *

 _Crack_!

A tree falls, thudding to the ground far below me, and I hear a loud yelp. I glance down to see my friend, Fir, glaring at the group of loggers who cut the tree, and I can see why. The large aspen landed less than four feet away from him.

"You all right?" I yell.

"Fine! Just startled is all!"

"Good! Then you'd better be ready to catch some more acorns!"

Fir scoffs loudly, and I grin. I love it when I'm on gathering duty instead of tree-cutting duty. There's plenty of edible treasures in the forest, like the acorns I'm picking now, which can be made into flour.

90 percent of the bread in this District is made with acorn flour, and it's always delicious.

My sharp eyes spot a large cluster of acorns on a higher branch, so I scramble up, careful not to step on any branch that looks like it might not hold my weight. Which, this high up, is most of them. I don't think I'll be going higher than this.

"Maple!"

I nearly fall off my branch. "Juniper! Don't do that!"

My best friend laughs from far down below. "I just came to check up on you and Fir. How's it going?"

"Fine," I say, reaching for the acorn cluster again.

It's just out of my reach. Dang it.

Against my better judgement, I scoot a little further out on the branch. It doesn't creak, so that's a good sign. I reach out again, and this time my fingertips brush the smooth surface of the nearest acorn. I grab it and tug, hoping that the rest of the cluster will come with it.

But, of course, I can't be that lucky, and a good half of the cluster stays firmly attached to branch.

" _Dang_ it!"

"That's enough acorns, I think," Fir says, sounding concerned. "Come down from there, Maple."

"I can get these. Just give me a minute."

Even though I'm so high up off the ground that I can nearly touch the clouds, I can still hear Fir's sigh. I shake my head to clear it, and then reach forward again, leaning as far out as I dare. Finally, after several nerve-wracking seconds, I manage to grab the acorns.

I immediately pull back, breathing a sigh of relief. "All right, I'm coming down."

"Oh, thank goodness," Juniper says.

"I heard that!"

"You were meant to!"

Fir laughs at our antics as I climb the rest of the way down from the tree, dropping lightly to the ground. I grin at my two friends and empty my sack of acorns into Fir's basket.

"Wow," Juni says, wide-eyed. "That's enough acorns to make a dozen loaves of bread!"

"Not quite," Fir replies. "But it's still quite a respectable amount."

"Just respectable?" I say, quirking one eyebrow.

"All right, impressive. How's that?"

"Much better."

I grin and sling one arm around each of their shoulders. Fir yelps and tries to wriggle away, and Juni bursts into delighted laughter.

I really love my friends. And, as long as I have them, it doesn't matter if we're here in District 7, or a million miles away.

* * *

 **Darius Lupei, age 17**

* * *

"Drago! Get _back_ here!"

"No!"

I growl under my breath, lunging at my younger twin brother in an attempt to get my apple back. Sometimes, Drago really acts like the younger brother.

He dances out of reach and sticks his tongue out.

Really, really acts like it.

I sigh and plop down on a log, seemingly giving up the chase. Drago isn't fooled. We know each other too well.

"Come on, give it," I say after a minute or so.

"Nope."

"I hate you."

"Love you too."

I sigh again, and drop my gaze to the ground for a split second, but that's enough of an opening for Drago. He tosses the apple at me at lightning speed without so much as a 'think fast'.

It hits me in the face.

I sigh, for the third time in the past five minutes.

Drago bursts out laughing.

I smile in spite of myself as my brother walks away, still nearly hysterical.

Sometimes, I wish I was a million million miles.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	10. D8 Intros: Cold World

**_DISTRICT 8 INTROS: COLD WORLD_**

* * *

 **Lillith Gunderson, age 15**

* * *

Walking anywhere in this District is a pain. There are people _all over the place_. And they keep bumping into me.

That's probably partly because I'm so short, _but still_.

Sheesh.

A second later, a tall, blond guy bumps my shoulder, nearly sending me sprawling, and that's it.

"Hey!" I shriek.

The guy looks around, confused. "Who said that?"

" _Me_!" I shout, thoroughly enraged.

His eyes fall on my, and he blinks. Several times.

"Um, I'm sorry?"

All right, that's it.

I punch him in the stomach, and then, when he doubles over, the face.

My best friend, Tara, squeals from behind me, applauding gleefully. I shoot her a grin and then dust my hands off, glaring down at the guy, who looks absolutely stunned and also kind of concussed.

Probably from hitting his head on the sidewalk after crumpling like a piece of paper.

Oh, well, that's his problem.

"Next time, watch where you're going," I snap before wheeling around and giving Tara a high-five.

"That was _sweet_ ," Tara says delightedly.

"Well, he bumped into me. And I think it was on purpose. And _then_ he pretended not to notice I was there. I had to teach him a lesson."

"Hopefully your parents won't find out about this, though."

"How could they? It's not like we're in school where there are tons of snitches just waiting to report me."

"Fair enough. Hey, are you coming to my house for the party next week?"

"Duh. I wouldn't miss that."

Just then, we come to my house. Well, more like my small apartment. My brother, Timothy, is hanging out the window, and he waves at us. I glare at him in response.

Tara muffles a laugh in her sleeve.

Honestly, nothing is more annoying than my overly friendly older brother. I mean _really_. Can he not act like an excited puppy for five seconds?

"Well, see you tomorrow," Tara says.

"See you."

We high-five again, and then I head inside. I'm not looking forward to this. Ever since I turned twelve, my parents have been trying and trying and _trying_ to get me to apprentice to my mother so I can become a seamstress.

And, every time, I say no, and yet they keep asking.

They just can't take a hint.

"Hi, Lily," Mom says as I walk into the living room. "What did you do today?"

"Hung out with Tara."

Mom's lip curls just a bit, but I know she and Dad don't approve of Tara. Like I care.

"That's...nice," Dad says. "Sweetheart, we need to talk to you -"

"Nope. Not becoming a seamstress. Not in a million years. There. Done."

Before either of them have a chance to respond, I race out of the living room and up to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. I imagine Timothy regrets giving me the lock for my bedroom door for my last birthday, but I _love_ it.

The second, my parents are pounding on the door, demanding to be let in, but I ignore them. I'm good at that.

Besides, I know what they're going to say. I've heard it all before.

It's a cold world out there, they'll say. You need a job if you're going to survive, they'll say.

The only thing is, I know the world is cold.

And I don't care. I'm gonna be _fine_.

* * *

 **Aegon Blackwood, age 16**

* * *

I lounge on my bed, feeling rather bored. Normally, when I'm home, I'd be tormenting my younger half-siblings, Rhaemyr and Morana, but they're not here. I hope they get back soon, because I've got a basket of dirty laundry with their names on it.

I flip over onto my stomach with a huff, contemplating whether it would be worth it to go _find_ the twins, when the doorbell rings. I don't move. The maid will get it.

A minute later, the maid (whose name I don't know) opens my door. "Master Aegon, your friend Matteo is here to see you."

Oh, this should be fun.

"Send him in."

Matteo bounds in with his typical energy, and I grin. Really, Matteo is less of a friend and more of a minion. I have a lot of those; mostly people who want to get in good with my family, as we're some of the most powerful people in the District.

Aside from the mayor and the Victors, of course.

But given enough time, we'll probably be on equal footing with them. I intend to see to that.

"Hi, Aegon," Matteo says.

"What are you doing here?"

"I though you'd like to hear a little piece of gossip about a certain Capitol model named Dacerie Doven."

That makes me sit up straight, because Dacerie Doven is the mother of my half-siblings.

"Only bad things, I hope?"

"Oh yeah."

"Then have a seat, my friend, and tell me all about it."

Matteo winds up telling me about how Dacerie, one of the Capitol's top models, has recently fallen out of favor with the public for some inexplicable reason. Well. Inexplicable to most people. But Matteo's father is a journalist from the Capitol, and he has the inside scoop on everything.

Which, incidentally, is the only reason I associate with Matteo.

As it turns out, Dacerie has recently been discovered to be a rebel. Or at least, a rebel sympathizer.

If this gets out, she'll be executed.

And, well, if I should happen to have a slip of the tongue at my parents' dinner party tomorrow night...

I nearly start laughing with delight, but I manage to restrain myself. "Thank you for that, Matteo. Nice job."

The other boy positively beams, and I have to fight back a laugh again, but this time it's mocking, not delighted.

A few minutes later, Matteo leaves. I don't think I'll be hanging around him anymore. He's served his purpose.

Other people might say that's cold, but it's a cold world.

And only those who are cold survive.

Lucky for me, I'm the coldest there is.

* * *

 **A/N Aegon's a real jerk, isn't he? I'm looking forward to killing him.**

 **Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	11. D9 Intros: Breathe

_**DISTRICT 9 INTROS: BREATHE**_

* * *

 **Naya Montello, age 15**

* * *

"Dad! Malcolm! Breakfast is ready!"

I hear a grumbling sort of sound from upstairs, and I smile in satisfaction. My older brother is awake. I know that Dad's been up for a while, but he's been locked in his study all morning.

Since it's Malcolm's nineteenth birthday, I thought I'd do something special for breakfast. I got up a 5:00 in the morning to get it ready, but I'm very proud of myself. There's fresh, hot bread (an incredibly rare luxury), some (slightly shriveled) berries, and scrambled eggs. The eggs are the best part. I had to dip quite a bit into the household funds to get them, but, well, today is a day for celebration.

And it'll be worth it to see Malcolm's face.

Just then, my brother clomps down the stairs, his hair standing on end like a porcupine's quills, looking half-asleep.

"Good morning!" I chirp.

"Mmmblerg."

"Happy birthday!"

Malcolm blinks. "'S that today?"

"Yes! And look what I made!"

I grin widely as his eyes go large and his jaw drops.

"Are you kidding me?" he says in astonishment. "You really went overboard, Naya."

"Well, you're finally safe from the Reaping. I figured if that isn't a cause for celebration, nothing is."

Malcolm laughs. "You got me there. Are those eggs?"

"Scrambled. I debated making omelets, but we don't have anything to put in them."

"Scrambled is good. Eggs are good. Oh my gosh are those strawberries?"

"Yes!"

He grins and sits down. I nod in satisfaction before turning and walking toward the stairs.

"Dad!" I call. "You'd better get down here before Malcolm eats everything!"

A chuckle sounds from upstairs, and then Dad's walking down the stairs. "Something smells good."

"I made a special Malcolm's-turning-nineteen breakfast."

"Eggs!" Malcolm says from the kitchen.

"Yes, with eggs."

"And strawberries!"

Dad laughs again. "Calm down a little bit, son."

The two of us go and sit at the table, piling fluffy eggs and warm bread and juicy berries onto our plates. I let Dad have a larger portion of eggs. I know they're his favorite. Malcolm's too.

I like the berries better anyway, so it works out nicely.

But I can't help but wish that Mom was here. Then it would be her cooking breakfast, instead of me. Not that I mind. In fact, I rather enjoy cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping, but sometimes I miss my mom more than I'd like to admit.

And I know Dad and Malcolm do too. We try not to talk to talk about, though.

It's hard though, sometimes, to do the things that she'd once done.

Sometimes, it's hard to breathe through the grief.

Then there are moments like this, when my family is together.

And I can breathe.

* * *

 **Douglas MacCullagh, age 16**

* * *

Sweat runs down my face as I shut the oven door, and I mop my forehead with my sleeve. It's blazing hot out, which means that working in my mom's bakery is something close to torture.

I envy my younger siblings, Siobhan and Chad, who were sent outside to play hours ago.

Not that I'm ungrateful for this bakery. After all, it's the reason my family and I are as well off as we are, and not living with my violent, drunken father. And, on a normal day, I like baking bread.

Just not when it's so hot out that I swear I saw an egg frying on the street.

"Douglas?" Mom shouts from the front of the bakery. "Are those seed loaves ready?"

"Yes! Hold on, I'll bring them out!"

I glance around frantically for a moment before finding the round seed loaves. I scoop them up in one arm and rush out to my mother. "Here you go."

"Thank you, Douglas," she says with a smile. "Why don't you go find your brother and sister? I can handle the store for a little while on my own, and you look like you need a break."

I laugh softly, knowing my face must bright red from the heat. "All right. Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome. Now shoo! I have customers."

I grin and dart toward the backdoor, pulling off my apron as I go, wondering where my younger siblings could be. In the end, I come to the conclusion that there's really only one place they could be: the grain fields.

Siobhan and Chad like playing hide-and-seek in the tall grasses.

Luckily the fields aren't far away, so it doesn't take long for me to get there. I can see the groups of workers, toiling in the heat, and suddenly I'm very glad to be working in a bakery.

I head toward the edge of the largest grain field, where a clump of scrubby trees grow. Perfect place for hide-and-seek.

Sure enough, as I get closer, I hear Chad's little voice saying, "Ready or not, here I come!"

"Ahem," I say, coming up behind my six-year-old brother. "Hello."

Chad jumps slightly, and then starts laughing. "Doug! I didn't see you there. You wanna help me find Siobhan?"

"All right. Now where could she be?"

I glance around carefully, my sharp eyes taking in every detail, looking for things that don't belong. Sure enough, I spot a glossy black braid swinging behind a tree, and I grin.

Tapping Chad on the shoulder, I carefully point toward the tree. My brother's eyes light up, and he creeps quietly toward where my seven-year-old sister is hiding.

"Gotcha!" he yells, tugging on her braid.

"Ow!" Siobhan shrieks. "How'd you find me?"

"Doug helped."

My sister turns and glares at me. "Doug!"

"Sorry. But Mom asked me to find you two."

"Oh. Well that's all right, then."

"I'm glad you approve."

"Come on," Chad groans. "Let's go see Mom!"

Siobhan grins. "Race you!"

"You're on!"

I laugh as my two younger siblings take off at a dead sprint, racing toward the bakery.

These are the moments I love. When I'm surrounded by my family, when there's no other pressures or expectations.

When I can just breathe.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	12. D10 Intros: Touch the Sky

_**DISTRICT 10 INTROS: TOUCH THE SKY**_

* * *

 **Audra Herdwick, age 14**

* * *

"Good morning, everyone!"

Several sheep and goats turn and stare at me, or, more specifically, the bucket of grain I'm carrying. I laugh softly and start pouring the grain into the troughs. First the goats' trough, then the sheep's.

They nearly run me over in their haste to get to their food.

Another laugh escapes my throat as I leave the barn and head for the house, passing my older sister, Caspa, sweeping the front steps.

"Sheep and goats fed?" she asks.

"Yep."

"Good. Breakfast's on the table inside."

"What are we having?"

"Tesserae cereal."

"And by that you mean tesserae grain soaked in milk, right?"

"Basically."

I roll my eyes and bound up the steps, heading for the kitchen. Tesserae cereal isn't my favorite, but it beats nothing by a long shot. Besides, it's not so bad if you add a little honey or fruit.

There's a bowl sitting on the dining table, filled to the brim with slightly soggy brown grains. I pick it up, making a face as I take a bite. Too bad we're out of honey.

And basically everything else. Caspa has _got_ to go shopping.

When I'm done with breakfast, I plop the bowl in the sink, grab my coat off the floor, and race back outside, where Caspa is now watering the garden.

"Where are you going?" she yells as I sprint past.

"Into town! Colton and I are going to watch that horse show!"

"Oh. Well, be back by dinner."

"Fine, fine."

Caspa laughs at my response as I continue to sprint down the path that leads to town. Honestly, she sometimes acts more like my mother than my actual mother did.

Not that my mother had much of a chance to act like a mother, because she died when I was only twelve. And even before she died, she was always busy.

I shake my head to clear it. I'm not going to think about that. I refuse to be weighed down by the grief of the past. I've got to keep moving.

Colton meets me at the big corral, where the horse show is going to be held. He's grinning hugely.

"Why are you so happy?" I ask.

In response, he whips out a pair of shiny, red apples from behind his back. I gasp in delight. Non-shriveled, fresh apples are incredibly rare, and these look like the cream of the crop.

"Mom gave me a little bit of money," Colton says by way of explanation. "So I thought I'd get us some snacks."

"I love you."

"Thanks."

I grab one of the apples and take a big bite. "Mmmm. So when does it start?"

"Couple of minutes."

Glancing around, I see several rusty trailers, probably with horses inside. No one who is doing this show is getting paid, but they do it because they love it.

That's what I aspire to do.

I want to do something I love, and I want to be the best at it.

I want to touch the sky.

* * *

 **Gabriel Asturias, age 18**

* * *

I glance down at the steep drop below me and swallow hard.

Technically, I know I'll be fine, because I'm wearing a rope harness, but I still really don't want to do this. Unfortunately, one of the foals on my grandmother's ranch ended up stuck at the bottom of this particular canyon, and he can't get out on his own.

So I was elected to get him out. Yay.

"You promise you won't drop me?"

One of my two best friends, Diego, rolls his eyes. "For the fourth time, no, I won't drop you."

"Well excuse me for being careful."

"You're excused."

"Both of you, stop it," my other best friend, Godric, snaps. "Let's just get this over with."

"Good idea," I say, tightening the harness one more time.

I take a deep breath, and then begin climbing. I do my very best not to look down, but I do a couple of times. And then I nearly throw up.

Eventually, I make it to the bottom. The little foal is curled up next to a scruff of sagebrush. He blinks large brown eyes at me, and I smile.

"Hey, little guy. How'd you end up down here?"

Naturally, the foal does not respond.

"Well, I'm gonna get you out of here, all right?"

The foal snorts.

I scoop him up, rather awkwardly, and tug twice on the rope. I feel the rope grow taut, and then my feet lift off the rocky ground. It's slow going, and there are several moments where I'm pretty sure me and the foal are going to plummet to our deaths, but we eventually make it to the top.

Then I promptly collapse, while Diego puts a halter and halter rope on the foal.

"You all right?" Godric asks.

"I just passed out," I say. "I'm still standing, but I've passed out."

Diego laughs, completely unsympathetic. "Come on, let's get this little guy back to your ranch."

"Fine."

I drag myself to my feet, and Godric slings one arm around my shoulders. We both pretend he's not helping support me.

A lot of people in this District spend a lot of time wishing they were somewhere else. I don't.

I'm happy right here.

I don't need to touch the sky.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you liked it, and please review!**

 **P.S. Sorry this is kind of short. I'm sick today.**


	13. D11 Intros: Take a Chance

_**DISTRICT 11 INTROS: TAKE A CHANCE**_

* * *

 **Bree Waters, age 18**

* * *

Sweat drips into my eyes as I bend down, plucking oranges off the ground. The little kids who climb the trees and throw fruit down really need to work on their aim. Not that I'm complaining. Picking up fruit is better than pushing the huge fruit-carts all the way to the train station.

A flash of white catches my eye, and I quickly duck my head. Peacekeeper. Great.

Most people would mistake the fact that I'm avoiding eye-contact with a Peacekeeper for a sign of fear. It's not. It's so that said Peacekeeper doesn't see the flash of hatred in my eyes.

I hate the Capitol, from Gamemakers to Peacekeepers, because they took my sister.

In a month, it'll be ten years since she was Reaped. Ten years since she died in the Hunger Games.

I shake my head to clear it and scoop up another couple of oranges. Lilly would have been 28 this year. My family lights a candle for her every year on her birthday.

Nope, stop thinking about it.

I've just finished picking up the last of the oranges on the ground when several more pieces of fruit (pears, this time) come thudding down from the trees. I sigh deeply, glaring up at the trees.

My youngest sister, Juli, the only one of my family still small enough to climb the trees, waves down at me, a soft smile tugging at her lips. Juli is fifteen and the nicest out of all of us.

She'd better not get Reaped.

I wave back at her, and her smile widens for a instant before dropping. She ducks her head, light brown hair falling in a curtain over her face. The Peacekeeper is back.

I grab a pair off the ground, trying very hard to not crush it. I really hate the Capitol. They took one of my sisters, and they made another so afraid that she can barely stand to leave the house except for work.

"Hey," a soft voice says in my ear.

I jump a little bit, wheeling around to see the bright blue eyes of another one of my sisters, Amelia. If Juli is the nice one, then Amelia is the pretty one. With her blue eyes (an incredible rarity for this District) and her waves of dark brown hair, she could have any boy she wants.

I suspect that she's dating someone in secret, but I'm not going to pry. Amelia's twenty years old, and she can handle herself.

Even though I heard a rumor that she's dating a boy named Mulberry Markus, I'm not going to pry. Nope.

"Hey," I finally respond, still following the Peacekeeper with my eyes.

"What did that pear ever do to you?"

I glance down to see that my fingernails have cut tiny crescents into the flesh of the pear. I grimace and drop it into my basket.

Amelia smiles at me and then she's gone, balancing her basket on her hip as she heads toward the large crates where we dump the fruits.

She doesn't know half of the thoughts that go on inside my head.

No one does.

No one knows that, sometimes, I plot rebellion in the dark hours of the night.

But really, who doesn't?

What separates the true rebels from the regular people is what they do with those thoughts.

I intend to act on mine. One day.

Because what's life without taking a few chances?

* * *

 **Nikolas Floros, age 14**

* * *

"If I never see another apple again it'll be too soon."

I roll my eyes at my younger brother's comment. It's especially ridiculous because we live on an apple orchard.

"I hate to break it to you, Marko, but we literally live in a place where apples are grown," my older sister, Lena, says with a smirk.

Marko huffs and crosses his arms. "Can't we move?"

I laugh out loud at that comment, resting my elbows on the table. "Sorry, buddy, but those apples are our livelihood."

"Why the sudden hatred of apples anyway?" my older brother, Elias, says.

"I fell in a barrel of them today. And I was stuck in the barrel for like an hour."

I hear Lena give a muffled snort from the kitchen, and I fight to keep a straight face. "Oh."

"Don't laugh!"

"I'm not laughing!"

"All right, guys, stop it," Elias says, although his lips are twitching. "Marko, the apples aren't going to hurt you, so don't worry."

Marko huffs again, but is quickly distracted by Lena finally emerging from the kitchen, carrying a large pot.

"Mom! Dad! Dinner's on the table!" she yells as she sets the pot down.

I inhale deeply, the scent of hot grain and meat (goat, I think) filling my nose. And, of course, there's the ever-present scent of apples. Apples are staple of every meal I've ever had.

My family literally lives off apples, between selling them and eating them.

Marko groans slightly at the sight of the apples. Hopefully he'll get over this new dislike soon, but he is a ten-year-old with very strong opinions. So I don't know.

Mom and Dad clomp downstairs, Dad still in his heavy work-boots, and sit down at the table. Lena starts serving her stew, and I start to smile. The stew smells even better now that the lid of the pot is off. I can see Elias literally drooling.

Lena is grinning as she spoons stew into my bowl, and Marko is now telling Mom about his apple adventure (judging from her horrified face, this is the first she's hearing about it), and Dad is talking with Elias about the latest crop and how we're going to get it to the Capitol.

My smile widens.

Excessive amounts of apples aside, my life is pretty great.

A lot of people in this District want a rebellion; I hear whispers of it all the time.

But I don't.

I like things the way they are.

I don't want to take any chances.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you like it, and please don't forget to review!**


	14. D12 Intros: Do It Different

**_DISTRICT 12 INTROS: DO IT DIFFERENT_**

* * *

 **Heather Spaulding, age 16**

* * *

"Hey, Melody!"

My sister-in-law looks up from her sewing and gives me a brilliant smile. "Hi, Heather. What's going on?"

"Nothing much. I just brought you some more cloth scraps."

"Oh, good!" she says delightedly, holding out her hands.

I place the basket full of scraps in her lap and she starts rooting through it. At seven months pregnant, Melody has been making baby clothes with an almost-feverish intensity. Not that she has much else to do, because she's very large.

So much so that my brother has been wondering if they're having twins. Or triplets.

He gets rather green every time he considers that possibility. And it doesn't help that Melody's family has a history of twins.

"Do you need any help?" I ask.

"Oh, that would be great. Do you think you could help me sort this stuff?"

I nod. Most people my age probably wouldn't consider helping their pregnant sister-in-law sort cloth scraps and sew baby clothes a fun time, but Melody is basically my best friend. And anyway, sewing is much more fun than hanging out at my house, which is empty, because both my parents are working in the mines.

I've managed to scrape together quite a respectable collection of scraps of cloth over the past several weeks. They're every shade and color imaginable; none of them fancy, but all of them usable.

Here in District 12, usable is about all we expect.

There's a couple of particularly pretty pieces of cloth: the daisy-patterned bit I got from one of my mother's torn dresses before she turned it into rags, the impossibly soft lilac thing I found caught on the not-really-electric fence, the scrap of light pink that used to be the pocket on the Reaping dress I used when I was twelve, and so on.

I put these pieces in a pile all their own, figuring that they should be used for something special.

The rest of the cloth scraps can go into one of two piles: wool and not-wool. These pieces are varying shades of gray, black, and dull green; the colors that most of the Seam wears.

When I'm done, Melody leans over the pile of pretty scraps and picks up a bright sunny yellow strip of cloth. "This is nice. Why is it in a separate pile?"

"I thought we should use it for something special. Not that baby clothes aren't special, of course."

Melody nods. "What do you suggest, then?"

Naturally, my mind goes completely blank as soon as she asks that question. I don't know a lot about babies, but I do know that they often have things like stuffed animals and blankets.

Wait.

Blankets!

"What about we make a baby blanket?" I ask. "With all these different colors, it would work for a boy or a girl!"

Melody blinks. I suddenly feel rather foolish. After all, she's probably already made a baby blanket or something. I'm about to say never mind, when Melody grins.

"That's a great idea! We can make it together!"

I breath a sigh of relief. "Great!"

Melody hands me a needle and some thread, and then we're carefully sewing the most beautiful baby blanket in the District.

It's calm and peaceful and relaxing, the repetitive motion of sewing quickly growing easy for my deft fingers.

There are times when I want to be noticed, when I want to win. A lot of times, in fact.

But then there I times like these, when I know I'm never gonna do it different.

And I'm good with that.

* * *

 **Andris Balthory, age 16**

* * *

I stare at the cards in my hand, wondering if I should try to bluff my way out of this, or if I should just fold. I don't know what cards my grandfather has, but they are, in all likelihood, better than mine.

It's not worth the risk, I decide.

"I fold," I say, putting my cards face-down on the table.

My grandfather gives a dry chuckle. "You're learning."

"I'm smarter than I look."

"Indeed."

I lean back in my chair, staring out into the distance. Me and my grandfather are on the porch of my family's butcher shop, savoring the first warm night we've had in a while. The sun is going down, painting the sky in colors of pink and gold, with bits of blue still peeking out.

Times like these I wish I had some kind of artistic skill, or maybe a camera, so I could capture this moment forever. But I can't paint or draw, and only people from the Capitol have cameras.

So I have to be content with fixing as many sunsets as I can in my memory.

"Want to play again?" I ask, gesturing to the cards on the table.

"No. I think we're done for tonight."

I nod, knowing he won't change his mind. As if to prove that point, he pulls out his battered old pipe and lights it, puffs of smoke soon filling the night air.

"Where are Csoba and Tamas?" my grandfather suddenly asks.

"Out somewhere."

Probably in town with friends or something along those lines. They like to escape the butcher shop as soon as they can, but not me. I prefer to hang out with Grandfather on nights like this.

Even though my friends are out there somewhere. Two of them in the Seam, in fact. Edric and Daena. I wonder what they're doing tonight. Actually, they're most likely asleep.

The sun is almost fully down, now, and I can see the Meadow lighting up with fireflies in the distance.

"Grandfather," I say, pointing, "they're back."

A smile splits his wizened features. "So they are. I used to think fireflies were magical when I was a boy, you know."

I can see why. They certainly look it, bright sparks of light against the blackness that is the woods.

My grandfather is still smiling as he blows a smoke ring in the direction of the Meadow. I still wonder how he does that. Whenever I ask, he just smiles mysteriously and says that old folks like him need to keep their secrets.

As much as I like nights like this, where I play cards with my grandfather and watch the fireflies, I still often wonder if there's more out there for me. If I can be more than just the butcher's son, more than the District I come from.

I sometimes wonder if I have it in me to really do it different.

* * *

 **A/N Last intros! Yay!**

 **Next up is the Reaping Recap! I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	15. Reaping Recap: The Chosen

_**REAPING RECAP: THE CHOSEN**_

* * *

 **Rani Glyniss, age 29**

 **Gamemaker**

* * *

I really hate my sister sometimes. I _knew_ it was bad idea to come to her 'Reaping party', but I went anyway, and now I'm surrounded by drunk twenty-year-olds.

Wow, I feel old.

My pencil moves idly across the paper in front of my, all sleek lines and swooping curves. It's a picture of the mutt I recently designed for the 73rd Hunger Games.

What a beautiful monster I have created.

"Maharani!" a voice suddenly calls. "Is that you?"

Oh, no. There are only two people in the world who call me by my full name, and since this voice is very much feminine, that means...

"Hello, mother."

My mother, Malora Glyniss, smiles coolly at me, her waves of pure white hair coiffed into a perfect braided spiral. The second she started going gray she dyed her hair snow white. Said it made her look sophisticated.

I remember being so jealous of that hair, of her nut brown skin that never seems to show wrinkles, of her dark eyes, so unlike the hazy emerald ones I got from my father.

Shaking my head to clear it, I plaster a smile on my face. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Wasn't your hair green not too long ago?"

I fight back a sigh. "It was."

Of course, now it's a shade of midnight blue dusted with iridescent white glitter; stars in the night sky. I'm quite fond of it.

"Well, I suppose blue is a better color on you than green was. Anyway -"

Luckily, I am saved from whatever my mother wanted to talk to me about by a squealing bundle of perkiness named Mitzi. Also known as my younger sister. Her metallic gold hair nearly blinds me, as does the neon orange drink in her hand.

"Come on, Rani, it's starting!"

For once, I let my sister drag me over to the couch, where her friends are all gathered. She also shoves a glass of champagne into my hand. I probably shouldn't be drinking, but champagne is my weakness, so I take a sip as the District 1 Reapings begin.

"This year's tribute for District 1 is...Saphira Sharpe!" the escort, who I think might be new, chirps, brushing a strand of her orange braids out of her eyes.

Saphira Sharpe, whoever she may be, doesn't get a chance to move before a voice shouts, "I volunteer!"

A gorgeous blonde sprints out of the eighteen-year-old girls' section, grinning hugely. The escort is also grinning, probably in anticipation of District 1 bringing home another Victor.

"What's your name, dear?" she asks.

"Selene Valor," the volunteer says, tossing her head and smiling winningly at the cameras. "And don't worry, boys, you'll be seeing me again soon."

Cheers break out, and I roll my eyes. A typical District 1 girl, then.

The escort, still smiling, skips over to the boys' reaping bowl and plucks out the first name her fingertips touch. "Jayden Raze!"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

And there it is. This year's pair are eager ones.

A tall boy with buzzed blond hair and tan skin steps out of the eighteen-year-old boys' section. As he gets closer to the stage, I notice that he's missing a finger on his left hand.

He's not the most attractive, which is surprising for District 1. But he's huge and powerful-looking, and that'll serve him well.

"And what's your name?" the escort asks.

"Bryan Hart."

A man of few words, then. Or maybe he's playing mysterious.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the escort says, her face nearly splitting from her giant smile, "I give you Selene Valor and Bryan Hart, your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!"

I get up off the couch as everyone bursts into uproarious applause. Between my mother, my sister, and everyone else here, I'm going to need another drink.

Looks like I won't be enjoying the Reapings much this year.

* * *

 **Kyna Snow, age 36**

 **Daughter of President Snow**

* * *

All things considered, Reapings are pretty interesting. Or, at least, they're interesting to people who know what to look for. Most of the population, my older brother included, just see Reapings as a prelude to the 'good part'; the actual Games.

But I don't see it that way.

Reapings are something spectacular in their cruelty; throwing the fate of hundreds of children to chance.

It's always fun to watch the faces of the people in the crowds on the television screens, watching as they wait to see whose children will be fighting to death this year.

Except in certain Districts, like District 2. Which happens to be my eight-year-old niece's favorite District. Or so she keeps telling me.

The escort reaches into the girls' reaping bowl, searching around for the perfect name, even though whoever is chosen will be immediately replaced by a volunteer. Unless there are none, in which case these Games could be very interesting indeed.

But no. There are always volunteers.

"This year's lucky girl is...Katana von Stryker!"

Only said lucky girl doesn't have a chance to move, because in an instant, a tall, dark-skinned girl sprints out of the eighteen-year-old girls' section, a look of wild joy on her face.

"I volunteer as Victor!" she yells.

The escort claps her hands in childish delight. "We have a volunteer! And what might your name be?"

"Juno Montgomery," the girl says. "And I'm gonna be your next Victor, District 2!"

Delighted cheers fill the air, and I must admit she seems formidable. But she's likely all brawn and no brains; these District 2 tributes always are. Although her 'I volunteer as Victor' stunt certainly showed style.

Maybe she'll surprise me.

"Now onto our boy," the escort says, reaching into the boys' reaping bowl. "Hadrian Vita!"

"I volunteer!"

A hulking monster of a boy with creamy brown hair and splotchy tanned skin runs out of the eighteen-year-old boys' section. Now he's the sort of District 2 tribute I've come to expect. No flare, no fuss. All brawn, no brain.

That will always be District 2's downfall, in the end. If they picked brains over brawn once in a while they'd dominate these Games more than they already do.

"Hello," the escort says. "Why don't you tell us your name?"

"Damien Pinot," the boy says.

"Anything else to say?"

"No."

The escort blinks, clearly taken aback by the abruptness of this particular tribute. So maybe he doesn't want to play for the cameras. That'll work out to his disadvantage, in the end.

"Well, then, District 2, I give you Juno Montgomery and Damien Pinot, your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!" the escort squeals.

The roar of delight that crowd gives puts a smile on my face, but it nearly blows my brother's wife backward. Aliah, screaming like only an eight-year-old girl can, is bouncing up and down in her seat.

My brother gets up out of his seat and groans slightly. Ever since he turned forty-one, his knees have begun to bother him. I roll my eyes as he walks into the kitchen.

"Do I have to go to bed?" Aliah asks. "I wanna see the other Districts!"

"Let her," I say, smiling slightly. "After all, she'll never see twenty-three of these kids again."

Aliah grins. "Aunt Ky agrees with me!"

My brother's wife, however delicate and weak, is not stupid. She knows when she's beaten, so she sighs out an 'all right' and collapses back into her seat.

I smile at my niece, who grins back.

Sometimes I think we're the only strong ones in this family. Except for my father, of course, but he's older now.

And older people are not as strong as they used to be.

He's no longer as strong as me.

* * *

 **Cerena Heavensbee, age 20**

 **Daughter of Plutarch Heavensbee**

* * *

I'm not sure which is worse, Shannara and Luscinia's parties, or babysitting my younger siblings for the night. As well as several other people's children.

Honestly, you'd think that at seventeen, my twin younger sisters could handle themselves for an evening, but apparently not. And Phox Crane is sixteen; he should be able to take of care himself as well. Chloris Crane is only fourteen, so I get why I have to watch her (even though she's kind of more mature than my sisters). And the Flickerman brothers are eighteen. They're legal adults. They should not be attempting to make a slip-n-slide in my living room.

"All right!" I yell, standing on the couch. "We're gonna watch the Reapings now! Everyone get over here!"

"Thank goodness," Lori mumbles under her breath, flicking a strand of newly-bleached blonde hair out of her eyes.

She went blonde right after Andromida Nyx Lede won, although she did dye the tips of her hair dark green and purple.

My twin sisters, Faridah and Avyanna, vault over the back of the couch like they're some kind of gymnasts, and the Flickerman brothers, Siegfried and Leif (who are apparently named after their mother's brothers), scoot under the couch. Phox sits down like a normal human, which I'm grateful for.

I turn on the TV and collapse onto the nearest arm chair, leaning my head back and breathing a sigh of relief. Everyone loves Reapings. This should keep them occupied until their parents come and pick them up.

The District 3 escort, Remy Oberman, is currently shuffling through slips of paper in the girls' reaping bowl. I wonder who the unlucky girl will be. Hopefully she won't be as insane as last year's girl.

"Raena Medakan!" Remy finally calls.

There's a slight pause, and then a girl steps out of the seventeen-year-old girls' section, her eyes darting around suspiciously. But she doesn't try to run or anything, which is good for her.

"Anything to say?" the escort asks.

She shakes her head stiffly. Remy shrugs and moves on to the boys' reaping bowl.

We all lean forward just a little bit as the escort picks out a name. My stomach is tight; Reapings always stress me out a little.

"Valerian Engel!"

Almost immediately, a boy walks out of the seventeen-year-old boys' section. His shoulders are straight, and he's even managed to muster a faint smile.

"He's _brave_ ," Chloris whispers, and I can't help but agree with her.

You have to be either brave or foolish to smile when you're facing death, and this boy doesn't look foolish.

I think I know who I want to win this year.

"Anything to say?" the escort asks, sounding bored.

The boy shakes his head.

"Well, then, ladies and gentlemen, I give your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games: Raena Medakan and Valerian Engel!"

Silence, as per usual.

Only the crowds in District 1, 2, and 4 applaud.

I don't blame them. I don't applaud sending children to their deaths either.

* * *

 **Adelina Frye, age 50**

 **Gamemaker**

* * *

I take sip of my poisonously red fizzy drink and yawn. I tend to get tired of Gamemaker parties rather quickly, but I figured that I might as well watch the Reapings as anywhere else.

At least here is more civilized than those dreadful bars, where everyone is drunk and yelling at the TV screen.

The District 4 escort, who I heard is going to be replaced soon, plucks a name out of the girls' reaping bowl, but before she can even read it, a voice shrieks, "I volunteer! I volunteer!"

How exceedingly rude.

The escort doesn't look bother, however, and grins excitedly. "Eager, aren't you? Well, come on up!"

A young girl sprints out of the sixteen-year-old girls' section, looking nearly giddy with excitement. "Hi! I'm Mara Glade, and I'm your next Victor!"

She blows a kiss at the crowd, and everyone applauds. I suppose she does have a certain amount of charm, but she's far too carefree. She really should take the games more seriously.

"Well, lovely to meet, Mara," the escort says with a smile. "Now how about we pick your District partner, hmm?"

"Sounds good to me!"

The escort grins and walks over to the boys' reaping bowl, making a big show of picking a name. Honestly, no wonder they're replacing her, she's all sizzle and no steak.

"Caspian Vale!"

I expect a volunteer, but no one moves, except for a boy in the eighteen-year-old boys' section. He smiles at the cameras as he walks up to the stage.

"Um, hi. I'm Caspian. Most of you probably know me as the chosen volunteer, so I guess you already know that I'm gonna try to win."

The escort beams at him. "Well said! Ladies and gentlemen, Mara Glade and Caspian Vale, your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!"

The applause that follows is terribly loud. Half the Gamemakers are clapping as well.

I don't much care for Mara, but Caspian seems like a nice boy. But, as always, I'll reserve deciding who I want to win until the Reapings are over. It doesn't do to rush into things.

Especially not when it comes to the Games.

* * *

 **Mitzi Glyniss, age 23**

 **Hunger Games Stylist Assistant**

* * *

I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have invited my mother. She and Rani don't get along, I know that, but I didn't realize how bad it was until now.

Mom keeps making snide comments, and I can _tell_ that Rani's inches from exploding, and that won't be pretty. For anyone. So I've been trying to keep them away from each other, with help from Leto and Kara, with moderate success.

Unfortunately my apartment isn't big enough to keep them away from each other entirely, but I'm doing my best.

Right now, Mom's off making a phone call, and Kara's going to distract her once she's done, while Rani and I continue watching the Reapings. However, Rani is on her eighth glass of champagne, which means she's getting...tipsy.

Very tipsy.

Hence the sitting down.

"Our girl tribute this year is Elle Croshart!" the escort yells.

"Is someone gonna volunteer?" Rani asks.

"This is District 5," I say.

"Oh, right. I forgot."

Definitely tipsy. Bordering on full-on drunk.

Elle Croshart walks out of the fifteen-year-old girls' section, looking surprisingly calm, which raises quite a few red flags. She might psychotic or something.

Rani's head drops onto my shoulder. She's always been sleepy when she gets drunk.

"Anything to say, Miss Croshart?" the escort asks.

"Nope."

"All right, then, now what about our boy?"

The escort, seemingly wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, reaches into the boys' reaping bowl and pulls out a slip of paper. "Thomas Spark!"

A long time goes past before anyone moves, and then a scrawny boy steps out of the fifteen-year-old boys' section, trembling from head to foot and looking terrified.

Pity stabs at my heart. Poor kid.

He finally reaches the stage, and the escort asks him if he has anything to say. He doesn't; no ever does.

After several minutes of silence, the escort finally clears her throat and says, "Well, then, ladies and gentlemen, I give your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games: Elle Croshart and Thomas Spark!"

No applause. Complete and utter silence, punctuated only by my sister's soft snores.

I sigh softly and shift so that Rani's in a more comfortable position.

I don't envy the hangover she'll have tomorrow.

Of course, I'm probably going to be the one who has to take care of her.

Lucky me.

* * *

 **Carleen Lowri, age 26**

 **Head of Project Luminescence**

* * *

"Hey! What's going on here?"

The group of people huddled around the TV all wheel around, several of them paling at the sight of me. "Um, Miss Lowri..."

"What's going on?" I ask firmly.

"We're watching the Reapings," a young man, the one who spoke at first, says. "Is that all right?"

I consider this for a moment, and a soft trill sounds behind me. "All right, fine, but only for a couple of minutes."

There's a collective sigh of relief, and everyone turns back around to look at the TV. I clear my throat again. Everyone turns around, looking slightly impatient now.

"Well, move so I can watch!" I say, and several chuckles sound.

People move out of the way for me, and I can't help grinning. Sometimes being the head of a major project and the owner of Lowri Labs really pays off. Like when I want to watch something and there's a crowd of people in front of the TV.

The District 6 escort is smiling at the cameras as she digs around in the girls' reaping bowl, eventually pulling out a single tiny slip of paper. There's always a sharp sadness in my chest whenever I watch the Reapings. I'm a scientist; I don't like killing.

I certainly don't like killing for sport.

"Cristina Ford!"

A cry goes up from the eighteen-year-old boys' section and a boy runs out, at the same time as a trembling girl steps out of the eighteen-year-old girls' section. My throat closes up just a little at the sight.

"Cristina!" the boy yells.

"Jax," the girl says, clearly fighting to keep her voice steady. "Jax, go back."

"No! No, you can't take her!"

"Jax! Go. Back."

The poor boy looks on the verge of tears, but there are Peacekeepers coming towards them, so he just kisses the girl once and then returns to his section. A bunch of people are close to tears as well, me included.

Even the escort looks teary-eyed as the girl climbs onto the stage, still trembling. She doesn't bother to ask whether Cristina has anything to say.

"N-now for the boy."

Seemingly wanting to get this done as quickly as possible, the escort reaches into the boys' reaping bowl. "Jairus Muldoon!"

There's another long pause, and then a boy, trembling even harder than the girl was, walks out of the thirteen-year-old boys' section. My heart clenches again, because he's so young.

Too young for this.

He just barely manages to make it to the stage on his own, and the escort, once again, doesn't bother to ask him if he has anything to say. She takes a deep breath and then smiles.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Cristina Ford and Jairus Muldoon, your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!"

No applause.

I can't help but feel a kind of satisfaction for that.

People start muttering; a few are even taking bets on how long these two will survive. I decide to take my leave, heading for the glass enclosure that houses Corona.

She's pressed up next to the glass, silver scales glinting in the harsh fluorescent lighting and purple eyes bright. Her claws are tucked under her chin, her wings folded at her sides, and her tail is loosely coiled behind her.

I'd think she was asleep if it weren't for her open eyes.

"Hey, girl," I say softly.

I've fallen into Rani's habit of talking to her. She seems to like it, anyway.

Sometimes I wonder just how smart she is. Other times I think I know, and I have it admit it scares me, because I'm pretty sure she's smarter than I am.

Corona trills softly, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I hope, suddenly and with everything that in me lies, that this creature (we've taken to calling her a Lumin, because of the project name) never ends up in the Hunger Games.

* * *

 **Luscinia Fidelas, age 20**

 **Capitol Citizen**

* * *

Shannara and I are sitting on my couch, snacking on cream buns and candied apricots. I was going to throw a party, but then Cerena had to babysit (or something) and all my other friends had stuff to do (probably watching the Reapings with their families), and my last party ended with someone calling the Peacekeepers, so I decided to not.

Anyway, hanging out with Shannara is fun.

The District 7 escort is digging around in the boys' reaping bowl; apparently he's decided to switch things up a bit. He plucks out a slip of paper and grins.

"Darius Lupei!"

I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water after that, and by the time I get back the escort is picking out the girl tribute.

"What's going on?" I ask, sitting back down.

"He's about to pick the girl," Nara mumbles around a cream bun. "Now shut up."

"Maple Sylvester!"

There's a long pause, and then the escort calls, "Maple Sylvester, come on up!"

Finally, a small girl walks out of the fourteen-year-old girls' section. Her eyes are red with suppressed tears, and she's shaking. I feel a stab of pity. She's only about the same age as that friend of Cerena's. Chloris Crane.

"How old was the boy?" I ask as Maple walks onstage.

"Seventeen."

"Huh."

"He looked tough."

"Say anything?"

"They never do."

I nod, smiling slightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the escort says, "I give you Darius Lupei and Maple Sylvester, your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!"

I bite my lip. These tributes don't seem like anything special.

Cerena would yell at me for that thought, but it's true.

She cares a lot about these people. She cares a lot about everyone, basically.

Sometimes, I wish I was more like her.

But I'm not.

* * *

 **Kipling Calloway, age 27**

 **Capitol Citizen**

* * *

Ever since I discovered that Rani's first mutts, I've been interested in the Games. I can't wait to see the next mutts she comes up with.

She was the one who helped us make Corona. And that little creature is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Whatever else she comes up with is sure to be just as spectacular.

The tributes are just sort of a side-attraction.

The District 8 escort, Ellabelle Tuchi, is batting her lashes at the camera while fishing around the girls' reaping bowl. District 8 never seems to give any good tributes, as far I've seen. But people can often surprise me.

Carleen has, on many occasions, proved that.

So has Rani, come to think of it.

I shake my head to clear it and concentrate back on the TV screen, where the escort has just pulled out a slip of paper. "Lillith Gunderson!"

There's barely an instant of pause before a small, short girl strides confidently out of the fifteen-year-old girls' section. I raise one eyebrow. Normally, Reaped children are crying or panicking, at least. But not this one.

This one is strong. Or foolish.

I'm not entirely sure yet, but she's scowling at the crowd like she wants to murder them all.

"Anything to say?" the escort asks. "No?"

In response, Lillith gives her the finger. She gasps in horror.

All right, so she's definitely more foolish than strong.

"Well, now for the boy!" the escort says, still looking miffed.

She rapidly pulls out a slip of paper from the boys' reaping bowl and glances at it. "Aegon Blackwood!"

Another pause, longer this time, and then a boy struts out of the sixteen-year-old boys' section, a look of forced confidence on his face. I screw up my face. Blackwood. That name sounds rather familiar.

I just can't quite remember where I heard it.

Shaking my head to clear it, I concentrate back on the TV screen, where the escort is asking Aegon if he has anything to say.

"I do indeed," Aegon says. "When I get back here, I'm going to rule this District. And there's nothing anyone can do to stop me."

The entire crowd falls completely silent. And I'm intrigued. That's hard to do; anyone who knows me knows this. Who is this boy, and why is he so powerful? And where have I heard the name Blackwood before?

That's when I remember. Some named Blackwood had an affair with a Capitol model. The Blackwood man was very powerful in District 8. That must be who this boy's father is.

So perhaps he can make good on his threat. If he wins. Which I'm not sure about.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games: Lillith Gunderson and Aegon Blackwood!"

There is, for once, a smattering of applause. Most likely from people who want to see the Blackwood boy dead.

Which, judging from what I've heard of the Blackwoods, is understandable.

I sigh and turn off the television.

I have a lot to think about.

* * *

 **Chloris "Lori" Crane, age 14**

 **Daughter of Seneca Crane**

* * *

The Flickerman boys are sleeping. So are Cerena's sisters. Phox, Cerena, and I are the only ones who are still awake.

Really they just had to tire themselves out. What with the slip-n-slide building attempt, the roof climbing, the exploding microwave, and...well I could go on and on. Poor Cerena's had an eventful evening chasing them around.

I'm pretty sure she's just trying to stay awake so that she keep an eye on me and Phox.

"Hey," I say. "Look at the District 9 escort."

He hasn't changed his appearance in years. Dyed black skin, hair, and eyes. He looks like a shadow, except for his blinding white teeth.

I was afraid of him when I was little, but I know he's just a regular person. A weird-looking one, but a person nonetheless. Except for the fact that he chooses two kids to die every year. That part is _quite_ unusual.

And right now he's reaching into the girls' reaping bowl, ready to choose the female tribute.

"Naya Montello!"

A girl walks out of the fifteen-year-old girls' section, looking rather annoyed. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that she's holding back tears.

I know I would be, and she's only a year older than I am.

"Anything to say, Naya?" the escort asks.

"No. I have nothing say."

The escort sighs and reaches into the boys' reaping bowl. I hope this tribute is older. Older ones have a better chance. I've learned that from watching the Games my entire life.

"Douglas MacCullagh!"

The boy who steps out of the sixteen-year-old boys' section looks shocked for split second, and then he turns around and winks at someone in the ground, plastering on a big smile.

I wonder who he's putting on this act for.

I'd like to know, I think.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Naya Montello and Douglas MacCullagh, your tributes for 72nd Annual Hunger Games!" the escort calls delightedly.

I can't help but wonder what both of these tributes' stories are.

I'd like to know, really. I hope I get the chance to find out.

* * *

 **Shannara Aleesi, age 20**

 **Capitol Citizen**

* * *

"'M tired," I mumble into Luscinia's shoulder.

"I thought we were gonna stay up and watch all the Reapings," Lu says, sounding completely amused.

"Yeah, well, I never said I wanted to go to bed."

"All right, shut up, it's on District 10."

I glare at Lu before turning back to the TV screen. The escort, Delaney Trix, is quiet and gentle and she's been doing this for a very long time. Long enough that she's stopped trying to be perky or memorable. She just does her job.

A bit boring, if I'm being honest.

"Audra Herdwick."

A soft scream goes up from the fourteen-year-old girls' section, and then a girl stumbles out as if she was shoved. Tears are shrieking down her cheeks, and she's shaking desperately.

She winds up collapsing on stage, and the escort tries not to look at her.

I can't help but feel bad for her. She's only fourteen, after all.

"Well, now for the boy tribute."

Delaney rapidly reaches into the boys' reaping bowl and pulls out a slip of paper, ignoring Audra sobbing on the stage. "Gabriel Asturias."

A boy walks out of the eighteen-year-old boys' section, stiff and emotionless, the exact opposite of his District partner. He looks like he's trying hard not to...do something. I can't tell what.

"Anything to say?"

"No," he says shortly.

The escort nods. And then she looks out the crowd, tears shimmering in her eyes, and says, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games: Audra Herdwick and Gabriel Asturias."

I wonder how many of these kids she's seen die. Probably more than I'd care to know.

"Hey. Sleepy. You want some water?" Lu asks.

"Sure."

Luscinia gets up, and I flop onto the couch. I lean back against the back of the couch and close my eyes.

Before I know it, I'm dozing off.

* * *

 **Rhyson Snow, age 40**

 **Son of President Snow**

* * *

My sister unnerves me. It might be a terrible thing to think, but she does. Has since we were kids. And, unfortunately, my younger daughter absolutely idolizes her.

Right now, they're both staring at the television as if marking down people for slaughter. Kyna does that a lot, and it's disturbing that my daughter does it too. I take a deep breath and sit back down on the couch, handing Aliah a glass of apple juice.

She takes it, and grins at me.

I manage a smile back, but it quickly drops as Kyna grins at me too.

She's just as disturbing at thirty-six as she was at six, only that deranged grin looks somehow less out of place on the face of an adult than it did on the face of a child.

I shake my head to clear it and look back at the TV screen, where the District 11 escort, Rubyanna Astori, is just plucking the name of the unlucky girl tribute.

"Bree Waters!"

A girl walks out of the eighteen-year-old girls' section, stiff as a board, fury radiating off her in such waves that I can hardly believe it. A girl that age shouldn't look so angry.

Although she was basically just sentenced to die.

Maybe she has a right to be angry.

"Anything to say?" Rubyanna asks chirpily.

"Shut up."

Kyna laughs out loud at the look on the escort's face. "She's got spunk! She'll die for that, but she's got _spunk_!"

And suddenly I'm sick to my stomach.

"Well, now for the boy tribute!"

There's a slight pause while the escort rifles through slips of paper, and then she pulls one out in one gloved hand. "Nikolas Floros!"

Almost instantly, a boy walks out of the fourteen-year-old boys' section, stiff and scared-looking. Oh, no. He's only fourteen. He really shouldn't be in this position.

"Anything to say, Nikolas?"

"No."

Judging from the look on the escort's face, she's relieved that he's being more polite than his District partner.

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet your tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games: Bree Waters and Nikolas Floros!"

I make the grave mistake of glancing at my sister. She's looking like she's measuring both of them for coffins. Which is sort of her default expression when meeting new people, but still.

"Well, brother," she says, eyeing me with a grin, "are you ready for this?"

I honestly don't know what she's referring to, whether it's the Games or...something else.

I'm not sure I really want to know.

* * *

 **Phox Crane, age 16**

 **Son of Seneca Crane**

* * *

Chloris is asleep. She fell asleep a couple of minutes ago, and now it's just me and Cerena, who looks like she might pass out any second.

The Reapings are nearly done. It's just District 12 now. And I'd really like to go to sleep, but I promised myself I'd stay up the whole time this year. Chloris did, too, but she's only fourteen, so I suppose I can't blame her for falling asleep.

She's just a kid.

Effie Trinket is rifling through the girls' reaping bowl, ready to pick out the girl tribute. I know my dad is the Head Gamemaker, but sometimes, I'm not sure if the Games are really a good thing.

Twenty-three kids like me and Chloris die every year for something that no can even remember.

I don't quite think that's right.

"Heather Spaulding!"

A girl, shaking from head to foot, steps out of the sixteen-year-old girls' section. My heart lurches. She's my age. The same age as me.

That feels wrong.

She looks nearly ready to sob, and she's avoiding eye contact with everyone. Effie asks if she has anything to say, and she shakes her head mutely, eyes fixed on the ground.

The escort huffs. "Now for our handsome young man!"

She plucks a white slip of paper out of the boys' reaping ball and unfolds it. "Andris Balthory!"

And he's sixteen as well. I feel slightly sick.

"Anything to say to your District, Mr Balthory?"

He doesn't say anything, his face completely blank. Mask-like. He's probably holding something back. Definitely holding something back.

They're both sixteen years old. And there's been a couple of fourteen-year-olds as well. Same age as Chloris, same age as my little sister.

I really don't feel like this is right.

But there's nothing I can do about it.

* * *

 **A/N Lots of plot stuff in this chapter. Also, can anyone guess what Corona is? I'm not even being subtle at this point.**

 **I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	16. Train Rides: Like Royalty

_**TRAIN RIDES: LIKE ROYALTY**_

* * *

 **Selene Valor, age 18**

 **District 1 Female**

* * *

The ride to the train station is long and silent, and it nearly makes me squirm in my seat. I can't wait for the Games to get started. Or at the very least I want to _be in the Capitol already_.

Once we get on the train, I fight back the urge to spin around laugh with glee. This is _better_ than _any_ party I've _ever_ been to. Crystal chandeliers, mahogany tables, delicate lace tablecloths, carpets so plush that my feet sink into them, amazing food everywhere...this is my dream.

And this will be my life once I win. A never-ending round of luxury and parties, with a little mentoring thrown in every now and again.

It'll be perfect.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the arrival of our mentors: Perseus Belcourt and Andromida Nyx Ledè. I can't help but wrinkle my nose a little bit at the sight of the baby carrier in Andromida's hands. She gives me and Bryan a warm smile and sets down the carrier.

"Hi," she says. "I'm Andromida, and this is Perseus."

"Like we don't already know!" I say excitedly.

Andromida did win just last year. And what with her pregnancy and everything, all of Panem knows her name. As for Perseus Belcourt, he's one of the more popular Victors. So obviously I know who he is.

"Yeah," Bryan says in his gravelly voice. "We know who you are."

"That sounded slightly ominous," Perseus says with a slight smile. "Or is that just me?"

Andromida laughs.

I grin, even wider than before. I'm still nearly giddy with _I'm going to be in the Hunger Games I'm going to be a Victor this is the best day ever_ so it's kind of hard to concentrate, but I feel like we should maybe watch the Reapings or something.

But before I have a chance to say so, Perseus says, "So how about we watch the Reapings, make a strategy, all that good stuff?"

"Sounds good," Bryan grunts.

"I'm in," I say.

"You guys go ahead," Andromida says. "I'm going to go check out my room."

"Making sure they did put those cribs in?" Perseus asks.

"Yes, actually."

"Have fun."

"You too."

And then she picks up her baby carrier and sweeps out of the room.

"Right," Perseus says. "Let's do this."

I grin to myself.

Let's do this indeed.

* * *

 **Damien Pinot, age 18**

 **District 2 Male**

* * *

Juno is a lot to handle. Even for our mentors, apparently.

The girl mentor, Enobaria Claymore, has the bridge of her nose pinched between her fingers while she attempts to talk my District partner out of this 'let's-not-include-the-District-4-boy-in-the-Careers-because-he-was-Reaped' stance she's gotten into.

But Juno is stubborn (as I'm quickly learning), and she's adamant that he not be included.

"He was _Reaped_!" she snarls. "Who knows what he'll be like in the arena!"

"He said he was the chosen volunteer," Enobaria hisses. "That means he has training."

"He could have been lying!"

That's actually a fair point. He might have been lying for the cameras, and Enobaria knows it.

She tosses her hands in the air. "Fine! Kick him out! But don't blame me if the Career pack implodes sooner than you were imagining because the District 4 girl was attached to her District partner and she gets mad that you left him behind!"

Also a good point. District partners often have a sense of loyalty toward each other.

I have a feeling that won't be a problem for Juno and me.

She's willing to do absolutely _anything_ to win, and so will I. So when it comes down to it, we'd both leave each other to die in an instant.

That's just how the Games work. Anyone who thinks differently is fooling themselves.

I shake my head to clear it and take a bite of the jam-filled pastry in my hand. My mentor, Brutus Ross, is talking to Enobaria, trying to calm her down. She's absolutely furious.

Juno tends to have that effect on people, from what I've seen of her so far.

She certainly has that effect on me.

"Come on," Juno says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Let's go watch the Reapings again. I wanna see those outer District kids cry. Might help put me in a better mood."

I roll my eyes. "We watched that like ten minutes ago. I'm going to my room."

"You're no fun. Fine, go."

It irks me that she thinks I need her permission to go to my room, but I let it go. There's no place for loyalty in the Games, but there's no place for pettiness either.

The only thing that matters is getting the job done, and that's exactly what I plan to do once I'm in the arena.

"Hey, kid."

"What is it, Brutus?" I ask with a sigh.

"I just have a piece of advice for you."

I stop walking. "What is it?"

"That girl? Kill her. First chance you get."

"When the pack breaks up?"

"Exactly. You go after her first."

"Why?"

Not that I'm complaining, but I would like to know the reason.

"I've seen tributes like her before. She'll be a monster in the arena, which is good until she turns on you. So the second the pack breaks up, kill her. Before anyone else."

I nod. Brutus is making sense.

Besides, it's not like I'm going to _not_ kill her if the opportunity presents itself. This just makes it a priority.

"All right," I say. "Is that all?"

"Yeah," my mentor replies.

I nod, and continue. I have a lot to think about, now. I need to plan, to make a strategy. Juno and I had already agreed to be trained separately; we neither like nor trust each other, so it only made sense, which means that secrecy is not too much of an issue.

Not to mention I'm pretty sure she'll be trying to kill me as soon as she can as well.

Like Brutus said, she's a monster. And not a rational monster either, not like me.

I know I'm a monster; I've been one since I volunteered.

But I'm a monster who's going to win, and for that to happen Juno has to die.

It's nothing personal.

Really.

* * *

 **Raena Medakan, age 17**

 **District 3 Female**

* * *

I can barely believe this is happening. It's so hard to process; one minute I'm just living my life, and the next I'm sitting on a train hurtling toward the Capitol.

And my imminent death.

Nope, can't afford to think like that. I'm a survivor. I've survived a lot, and I'll survive this too.

I have fight. I have to win.

I have to kill.

"Hey. Hey, are you all right?"

I blink several times and glance at my Valerian, taking in his worried face. "I'm fine."

He breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. You were looking a little bit weird."

"Just thinking."

About how you and a bunch of other kids are going to have to die in order for me to get home. That thought would be a whole lot less awful if Valerian wasn't so dang nice.

I shake my head to clear it. I can't afford to think like that, because it doesn't matter how nice Valerian is, he _has_ to die. There can only be one Victor, and it's _going_ to be me. I'm going to survive this.

Valerian seems to realize that I'm not going to talk to him, so he gets up and heads for the pile of delicious-looking food on a nearby table. I would eat too, but I don't want to take anything from the Capitol.

Not after what they just did to me.

Although maybe eating would be smarter; putting on a little weight before the probable-starvation of the arena would be good.

But no.

If I'm going to die, I won't die owing the Capitol anything.

But I'm not going to die, because _I'm a survivor_.

I just have to keep repeating that until I believe it.

Maybe it would help if I tried to make an actual plan. But the people who are supposed to be helping me with that are nowhere to be found. I'm on my own. Which is probably better, in the long run, because I'm going to be on my own for the rest of the Games because I can't trust any of the other tributes.

I can't trust anybody here.

Not even Valerian.

I probably couldn't even trust the mentors if they were here.

No, I'm better off alone.

Because, after all, there's only one winner.

And it _has_ to be me.

* * *

 **Caspian Vale, age 18**

 **District 4 Male**

* * *

I'm ready for this.

The whole 'being-Reaped' thing was a bit of a shock, but I think I handled it pretty well. As well as can be expected, for having had less than a minute to come to terms with it.

Mara and I have already watched the Reapings and talked to our mentors, Mags Flanagan and Hudson Skipper, about strategy (we'll be part of the Career pack, as usual), and now I'm in my room, staring at the blurry landscape outside.

I really don't know what to do. I've trained for the Games, I know what to do for the interviews, and training won't be a problem, but I don't know what to do here on the train. Lacking anything else to do, I pull out my token.

It's a bookmark signed by my family and Lyra. Staring at it gives me a boost of confidence.

All these people believe in me. They think I can come home a Victor.

They're right. I really hope.

No, I can't afford to doubt myself. Doubt kills as surely as a sword.

If I don't think I can win, I won't.

So I can't doubt myself. Which is easier said than done, but it's important.

My family believes in me. Lyra believes in me.

I just have to believe in myself.

The sun is starting to set, now, the sky bleeding red and gold. Sunsets over the ocean are the most beautiful thing in the world, but the view from the train isn't bad.

I wonder what sunsets look like in the Capitol.

I guess I'm going to find out.

I wonder what the arena will be like. Will they even have sunsets there?

I don't know.

Finally tearing myself away from the window, I flop down on my bed, suddenly feeling tired.

Understandable, I guess. I've had a long day.

I wonder if Mara is as tired as I am. Probably not.

In all honesty, I'm not sure if she really understands what she's getting into. If she gets that we're going into a death match and there's nothing we can do about it now.

I'm not sure which would be worse: that she doesn't get it or that she does and she just doesn't care.

I shake my head to clear it. I can't afford to worry about both myself and Mara.

Because I have to be the Victor.

I have to.

* * *

 **Elle Croshart, age 15**

 **District 5 Female**

* * *

I've been in a state of panic for hours. I don't even have a strategy, because my mentor gave me up as a lost cause within five minutes of meeting me.

I don't exactly blame her. I would give up on me too.

Actually, I'm pretty sure I already have given up on me. Because there's no way I'm surviving this.

I can't fight, I have no survival skills, and the list goes on and on. I'll be lucky if I die in the bloodbath instead of slowly starving to death. Or dying of dehydration.

Oh, good. Those are some lovely thoughts.

I've been too busy panicking to even eat, even though everything looks delicious.

And now I'm too busy panicking to sleep. It's rather early to be going to bed, I know, but there wasn't anything else to do. I would have taken a shower, but the second I got into the bathroom I ran back out because there were so many buttons that I'd probably kill myself if I tried to use anything.

I'm not in a hurry to die, in spite of the fact that I'm going to in a couple of days.

And there's the bad thoughts again.

I take a deep breath. I'm not going to think about it. If I'm going to die, I might as well enjoy my last few days alive.

Which means, first off, getting some food.

I get out of bed, pushing back the silky sheets, and grab a plush bathrobe from the closet. It's so warm and soft that I feel like I've wrapped myself in a sun-warmed cloud.

For a brief moment, I wonder if I'll get in trouble for this, but then I start to laugh, because, really, what more can they do to me? They've already handed me a death sentence.

I deserve a little food.

When I reach the room with the food in it, I slowly start to smile for the first time since the Reaping. Because there's a lot of food in here, and it looks better than just about anything I've ever seen.

I grab a sort of fluffy roll off one table and slather it in butter before taking a big bite. I nearly moan with delight.

This is delicious.

Maybe dying is worth it for this.

I stop mid-bite. Nope. That's not right.

Nothing is worth dying for.

But maybe all this luxury will help soften the blow.

If only a little bit.

* * *

 **Jairus Muldoon, age 13**

 **District 6 Male**

* * *

I shouldn't be here.

That's been my overwhelming thought ever since the Reaping. I shouldn't be here. Preston was supposed to volunteer if this ever happened. But he's too old now, so _someone_ should have volunteered.

Or I never should have been Reaped at all.

The point is, _I shouldn't be here_. I'm _not supposed_ to be here.

Staring at the slowly rising sun, that's the only thought in my head. I keep wondering if this is some kind of weird prank, or misunderstanding.

I can't actually be going into the Hunger Games. That can't happen to me.

It's got to be some kind of a joke.

Right. Yes. A joke, or a prank, or something. Any minute now they'll realize they made a mistake and send me home. They have to.

They absolutely _have_ to.

Otherwise...

No. There is no otherwise. I'm going home soon. I won't end up in the Games. I _can't_ end up in the Games.

That's just not possible. This is the kind of thing that always happens to someone else, not to _me_ , or anybody I know. It just doesn't. It's not supposed to work that way.

It's not.

There's a knock on my door. Probably Cristina, or one of the mentors. I don't get up to answer it.

I don't need to make a strategy, or try to eat a lot, because _I'm not going into the Games_. I'm _not_.

I can't.

I can't I can't I can't I won't.

And that's final.

There's no way I'm going to into the Games.

No. Freaking. Way.

* * *

 **Maple Sylvester, age 14**

 **District 7 Female**

* * *

I'm alone at the breakfast table except for the escort.

I don't know why. Have the mentors given up so soon? Or are they just sleeping in?

And what about my District partner? Has he given up?

I hope not. Or I hope so. I'm not even sure anymore. I know I want to win, but I don't want anybody to die. An unsolvable puzzle, seeing as how I'm going into the Hunger Games, where it's kill or be killed.

Kill or be killed. That's what it all comes down to, in the end, and I'm not sure which one I would prefer.

"Eggs?" the escort asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I manage a weak smile. "Sure."

The escort (whose name escapes me) serves me some scrambled eggs. I sprinkle a little bit off pepper and hot sauce on top, and then dig in. I've already eaten a couple rolls, some toast with jam, a several slices of bacon, and two cups of orange juice. I can say one thing for the Capitol: their food is excellent.

I say as much to the escort, who seems inordinately pleased about this. Even though I didn't mean for it to be taken as a compliment.

Oh, well.

It's quiet, now. I don't think either of us really know what to say to each other. What do you say to the person who picked you to die? What do you say to the person you picked to die?

I sure don't know.

And I don't think the escort does either.

So we stay silent, each caught up in our own thoughts, eating.

Not that I'd be talking more if there were more people here. I've got a lot to think about.

Like the whole kill-or-be-killed problem I'm currently facing. I keep coming to the same conclusion: I want to go home, but I don't want to kill.

It's a paradox.

One I don't know how to fix.

And I'm not sure if I'll live long enough to do so.

That's a scary thought. But one I can't afford to ignore, because the threat of death is _very_ real.

I don't want to think about it, though. I also can't afford not to.

Oh, look. Another paradox.

Those seem to be piling up lately.

* * *

 **Aegon Blackwood, age 16**

 **District 8 Male**

* * *

My District partner won't stop talking.

I don't know if it's because she's nervous, or what, but I want her to stop it. Unfortunately, she doesn't take kindly to being told to shut up. I still have a bruise on my shin from telling her that last night.

She's violent and doesn't take orders well, in conclusion. Which takes her off the list of potential allies.

Of course, the only people intend to ally with are the Careers. But, on the off-chance that they reject me, I'll need other options, and Lillith is not one of those.

Too bad for her. She'd make it far with me.

Not win, obviously. I'm going to be the winner.

After all, I made a promise to my District. And I never break a promise.

"Well, thank you for that lovely anecdote, Lillith, but perhaps it's time to turn our attention to strategy?" one of the mentors, Janine Tartan, says.

"Nope," Lillith replies. "I'm gonna wing it."

"You...what?"

"I'm gonna wing it. I'll be fine, you'll see."

"For once," I say, "I'm in agreement with her. I already have a strategy."

Both mentors looks astonished, but don't say anything more. They've probably written Lillith off as a lost cause, and as for me, well.

They must recognize genius when they see it. Because there's no way my plan will fail. The Careers will see that I'm an incredible asset to their group, and then I'll kill them while they sleep once all the other tributes are dead.

Easy as that.

And I don't think I need to worry about them catching on to my plan. District 1 produces pretty idiots, District 2 concentrates on brawn over brains, and District 4...well, District 4 alternately produces pretty idiots and brawn-over-brains types.

Really, you'd think the Careers would step up their game once in a while, but no.

Oh, well. All the better for me.

* * *

 **Naya Montello, age 15**

 **District 9 Female**

* * *

I'm so nervous. I've never been this nervous in my entire life.

The escort said we'll be in the Capitol in just a couple of hours. _A couple of hours_.

I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready.

Because the second we get to the Capitol, the Games will truly begin. Because the Games aren't just a death match, they're also a TV show. People sponsor tributes that give a good show, or tributes that are good-looking, and I don't think I'm either.

Which means I'm probably doomed.

I was doomed anyway, of course, because I don't know how to fight or survive or anything, but that just makes it all the clearer.

These Games will have a Victor, but it most likely won't be me.

But I'm not giving up hope yet.

"How are you doing?"

I glance over at my District partner, who has just sat down on the couch beside me. "All right. You?"

"I've been better," he says, and I manage a laugh.

"Yeah, me too."

We fall silent. There's not a whole lot to talk about with a person who will, likely as not, be trying to kill you in a very short space of time.

A far too short space of time.

Just a couple of days, really.

My breathing starts to speed up, but I quickly force the panic down. I won't appear weak. I won't. I can't.

I may not be good at putting on a show, and I may not be very pretty, but I won't make them think I'm weak. Because strong might be the one thing I can be right now.

They won't see me panic.

I won't let them. If I'm going to die, I won't die a coward. I won't die weak.

I glance over at Douglas. I think I've seen him around, sometimes. I know he has two younger siblings.

I wonder if I deserve to live more than him.

If I deserve to live more than any of these other tributes.

No, I'm not going there. I can't deal with that kind of thinking.

It'll only confuse me.

And I have to stay true to my goal: stay alive.

Confusion is not an option.

* * *

 **Gabriel Asturias, age 18**

 **District 10 Male**

* * *

My mentor thinks Audra and I should be allies. He told me so last night, and I've been thinking about it ever since.

Do I want to ally with a fourteen-year-old who might not even make it past the bloodbath?

I wince slightly at the coldness of that thought, but it is, unfortunately, true. She might not make it past the bloodbath. I might not make it past the bloodbath.

I don't have any sureties, and I don't have any answers, and it's freaking me out.

But I can get an answer to this whole ally thing. If only I can get up the courage to actually talk to Audra. I tried during breakfast, but that didn't go well. I choked on a raspberry. It wasn't pretty.

Right now, she's sitting on the couch closest to the nearest window, trying to catch her first glimpse of the Capitol.

All right. Here goes nothing.

"Um, Audra?"

My District partner turns around and smiles at me. "Hi, Gabriel. What's up?"

"I'm guessing your mentor talked to you about the whole...ally thing?"

A pause.

"Yeah. She said I should ally with you."

"I thought so."

"I'm good with it if you are. But I get it if you aren't. I mean, I'm definitely on the younger side. And I'm not good with weapons or anything..."

You know what? Screw it. I'm not going to leave my District partner to die.

"I'm good with it."

She brightens, a large grin spreading across her face. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I guess we're allies."

"I guess so."

I can't help but feel a little less worried at that thought. I have an ally.

Maybe things really aren't hopeless.

Just maybe.

* * *

 **Bree Waters, age 18**

 **District 11 Female**

* * *

I don't want to see the Capitol. I've never wanted to see the Capitol.

The Capitol is my enemy. They took my sister and now they've taken me too. I can barely believe it, sometimes.

Other times I just want to smash things. Like the escort's face.

She's awful. One of the worst people I've ever met. She keeps going on about how strong I look and how good I'm going to be in the Games and how she'll be betting on me.

Yes. Good. Like that's supposed to encourage me.

All it does is make me angrier.

But I can't show it. I don't want the Gamemakers to blow me up the second I enter the arena.

I have to be smart about this. Which, of course, means pretending not to be completely infuriated that these Games exist in the first place. I only hope that Caesar Flickerman doesn't bring up my sister in the interviews, otherwise I'm gonna blow sky high and screw the consequences.

"Bree? You're scowling kind of a lot. Are you all right?"

Nikolas. Of course.

"I'm fine," I say through gritted teeth.

My District partner doesn't seem to get the message. "I just figured I'd ask this now. Do you want to be allies?"

I almost laugh, but I feel like that would be insensitive. Well, more insensitive than what I'm about to say.

"Sorry, no. I don't want allies. They'll just slow me down."

It's the truth. I'm not being overconfident. Overconfidence kills.

Nikolas practically seems to wilt. "Um, all right. Sorry for bothering you, I guess."

I sigh. "I _am_ sorry."

"No, it's fine. I guess it was a long shot."

I sigh again. This is why I hate the Games, and the Capitol. Kids like Nikolas, kids like _me_ , shouldn't have to fight to the death for some kind of horrible entertainment.

But for now, I'll play along.

I'll fight, I'll win, and then I'll bring them all down.

* * *

 **Andris Balthory, age 16**

 **District 12 Male**

* * *

The Capitol is even more brilliant and sparkling and extravagant than I'd imagined. I can see it quite clearly now. We're almost there.

But even from I distance, I could tell that it was a glittering jewel-city like nothing I've ever seen. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little excited. Heather looks pretty excited, too, judging from the smile that's playing on her lips.

I know these people have literally sentenced us to death, but it's hard to not be excited by the incredible-ness of the Capitol.

"Nearly there, now!" Effie chirps joyously. "That means please try to straighten up, Haymitch!"

The man in question grunts, not moving.

Our other mentor, Orlando Cimber, sighs deeply. "Come on, Haymitch, you don't want to knock potential sponsors out with that smell of yours."

Haymitch glares at him, but stumbles to his feet and out of the room, presumably to go freshen up.

Effie shoots Orlando a grateful look, and then returns to fluffing her hair. Wig. Whatever.

I don't even know, really. It could be a wig or it could be her natural hair. I wonder if everyone in the Capitol looks that weird. They can't all have powdered faces and insane hair, right?

Haymitch stumbles back into the room just as the train glides to a stop. He looks marginally better, and he no longer smells like someone dumped a bottle of liquor all over him.

"All right, here we go!" Effie chirps. "Big smiles, both of you!"

I do my best to smile, and Heather does as well. But we both probably look more like we're in pain than anything else.

The second we step out of the train, we're swarmed by excited, brightly colored people. It's like a swarm of butterflies, or possibly parakeets. More like parakeets.

They're loud and colorful and they won't stop flapping things in my face. Parakeets.

A real smile touches my face at that thought.

"What's so funny?" Heather whispers.

"Nothing," I whisper back.

Can't afford to have anyone over hearing that.

I want these strange people to like me, after all.

* * *

 **A/N** **I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	17. Chariot Rides: In the Spotlight

_**CHARIOT RIDES: IN THE SPOTLIGHT**_

* * *

 **Chloris "Lori" Crane, age 14**

 **Daughter of Seneca Crane**

* * *

"What a view, right?"

I wince slightly at the just-too-loud volume of my brother's voice, but I have to admit he's right. We've got the best seats in the house. I guess being the Head Gamemaker's kids pays off sometimes.

"Lori? Hello?"

"Yes, it's a nice view!" I snap. "Could you stop yelling now?"

"Well, excuse me for being excited."

I roll my eyes, and I'm about to say something scathing when the trumpets sound. I lean forward in my seat, excitement welling up in my chest.

As usual, the District 1 tributes are the first out of the polished mahogany doors. Their chariot is pulled by palominos this year, and the already golden horses are dusted with gold glitter. The reason why becomes apparent the second I see the tributes.

The girl is draped in metallic gold gown that moves like it's liquid and clings to her every curve. Her lips are painted vivid red, her eyelashes coated in mascara. Her hair is curled into a cascade of ringlets and golden tiara is on her head. High, golden gladiator heels and elbow length gold gloves complete the look.

Her District partner is dressed in gold suit that's made of the same material as the girl's dress. He's wearing a golden crown and gloves, too.

They are nearly the opposite of last year's ice queen and king, but just as stunning.

"Do you think Dad would let me have that dress?" I ask.

Phox snorts. "Not a chance."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. It's still pretty, though."

District 2 is next, obsidian horses pulling a stern steel chariot, and the tributes are just as intimidating. The girl is dressed in a leather catsuit that leaves little to the imagination, but that's not the point of the costume. A spiked helmet sits on her head, and her makeup is dark and dramatic, eyeliner smeared around her eyes and bloody lipstick. A black cape billows out behind her, and there's an enormous spear in her hand.

The boy is dressed in black armor that makes his already huge frame look enormous, and he, too, is wearing a helmet. Less spiky then the girl's, but still. An ax that's probably larger than I am is clutched in one of his fists.

They lift their weapons in unison, and the crowd goes crazy.

My hands are starting to hurt from applauding, and it's only been two districts. Phox is whistling and tossing coins at them.

Next comes District 3, their chariot pulled by brown horses with glowing blue...things woven through their manes. They look almost like live wires.

The girl tribute is wearing a billowing black dress with vertical glowing blue things running down the sides and front and back. Her hair is pulled up in an elaborate twist and woven with same stuff, so it looks like she's wearing a headdress of live wires. The glowing things pulse and shimmer, bathing her in an eerie blue light that sets off the dark red lipstick and smoky eyeshadow she's wearing.

The boy is dressed similarly, in a black suit with vertical glowing things on the sides and front and back. His hair is not woven with it, though. That would have looked a little silly. But he is wearing a sort of crown made of the glowing things.

They both look eerie and powerful. And absolutely spectacular.

I toss them both gold coins.

District 4 comes out next, their chariot pulled by white horses with brilliantly colored coral braided in their manes. The girl tribute is wearing a dress that seems to be made out of thousands and thousands of strips of iridescent blue, green, white, and turquoise cloth. The strips blow in the breeze, giving the illusion that her dress is made out of waves. A crown of coral sits on her head, and dramatic green lipstick and blue glittery eyeshadow paints her face.

The boy is wearing nearly an identical costume, except his is a sort of a body suit with strips of cloth attached. It still looks cool. He's also wearing a coral crown.

Phox throws the girl a flower and she catches it, waving it in the air. He looks incredibly proud of himself.

Next is District 5. Their chariot is pulled by dapple gray horses, their manes braided with tiny, reflective panels.

Just like the tributes.

I think this year's tributes are supposed to be solar panels. They're both wearing bodysuits covered in reflective panels. The light is so bright it's almost blinding, but the effect is certainly cool, if a little over-the-top.

From what little I can see of the actual tributes, they look pretty good, wreathed in reflected light.

"My eyes are watering," Phox complains, swiping his sleeve across his face.

"Mine too."

"Still cool costumes, though."

"I'd have thrown them some coins if I could see where they were."

Phox laughs at that, but he shuts up when the next tributes come out.

District 6's chariot is pulled by black-and-white paint horses, and the tributes...well, I can't quite tell what the tributes are.

"I think they're supposed to be trains," Phox says, in a voice of awed horror.

And he's right. Both tributes are dressed in bulky suits that definitely look distinctly like the trains that come into the Capitol nearly every day. They both also look mortified. I don't blame them.

I'd be pretty embarrassed too if I looked like that.

"Hopefully District 7'll be a little better," I mutter.

"We're about to find out," my brother says.

And it's true, because just then District 7's chariot comes out, pulled by roan horses with garlands of leaves braided into their manes.

The girl tribute is dressed in a long dress, so long that it has a train that nearly brushes the ground beneath the chariot. It's deep brown, with green trailing vines wrapped around her waist. The sleeves are long and billowy, and there's a crown of leaves on her head. Her lips are green, and so is her eyeshadow.

The boy is dressed nearly the same, except his outfit is a suit. His wearing a crown of leaves, too.

"They're trees," I say as I toss a rose toward the girl.

Phox cocks his head to one side. "Yeah, I guess they are. Weird, it's so subtle you almost don't notice it."

"That's a good thing."

"Yeah. When the stylists try to be obvious about something, it doesn't end well."

He has a point there. Like that time the District 4 tributes were dressed up as literal giant fish.

Not good.

I shake my head to clear it as the District 8 tributes come out. Their chariot is pulled by dark gray horses, their manes woven with some kind of white gossamer thread. Almost like...

Oh.

The tributes are spiders. Both are dressed in silvery gray bodysuits with eight sleek, spiny legs attached. They both also have several extra eyes painted on their faces. It's definitely unique.

"That's actually sort of cool," Phox says.

"I know, right?"

"And I guess spiders are nature's weavers."

"You heard that in some kind of a documentary, didn't you?"

"Yup. Still sounds cool."

"You're an idiot."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

He makes a face at me, and I stick my tongue out at him. Phox opens his mouth to say something, probably along the lines of 'real mature'. He likes to pretend that he's more mature than me, but I've caught him eating jam out of the jar with a spoon. On several occasions.

But before he can speak, the District 9 tributes come out.

Their chariot is pulled by a pair of white and gold paints with strips of dry grass braided into their manes. The girl tribute is dressed in a woven grass skirt with a tight blue top, her hair pulled away from her face in a high ponytail, and her cheeks painted with gold stripes.

The boy is dressed in a shirt and pants; the pants are made of woven grass, and the shirt is tight and blue. His face is painted like the girl's.

They are fields of grain. Literal, but subtle. Just like a District 7.

"Not bad," Phox says. "For District 9."

"Yeah. I liked last year's costumes better though."

Phox looks puzzled. He probably doesn't remember last year's costumes.

"Remember, they were dressed as something out of mythology. The girl had a big scythe."

My brother's face clears. "Oh, right. Yeah, that was cool."

"Oh, here come the next tributes!" I yell, leaning out of the private box Phox and I are in.

District 10's chariot is pulled by a pair of white horses with reddish spots, and the tributes are dressed as a cowboy and a cowgirl. The girl is wearing a yellow plaid shirt with tasseled light brown leather pants and a pair of shiny white boots. A light brown hat sits on top of her head. She looks rather pleased with her costume, which is a little odd.

I know I wouldn't want to wear that.

The boy is wearing a green plaid shirt with darker brown tasseled leather pants and a pair of black boots. His hat is dark brown as well. He looks less happy than the girl, but still content.

I toss them both flowers, and the girl catches one of my daisies and puts it on her hat.

I can't help but squeal with delight. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah!" Phox is grinning. "You're lucky!"

I'm still giddy when the District 11 tributes come out, their chariot pulled by one roan horse and one palomino. I'm confused for a second, but then I see the tributes.

The girl is dressed in an orange outfit; a bright orange shirt and a matching skirt, with a ridiculous little green hat perched on top of her head. Her shoes, a pair of ankle-length boots, are also orange. Even her lipstick and eyeshadow are orange.

The boy is wearing a bright red shirt and pants, with a nearly identical little green hat on his head. His shoes are also red, and there are red stripes painted on his cheeks.

They both look supremely embarrassed.

"T-they're a-apples and o-oranges!" Phox says, laughing hysterically.

I can't stop laughing long enough to speak. They _do_ look funny, and it's made even better by the fierce scowl on the girl's face and the fact that the boy won't even look at the crowd.

I wonder if the stylists are running out of ideas.

District 12 is next, and, while they've had some pretty good costumes in the last few Games, I'm pretty sure their lucky streak won't last. There's only so many creative costumes a person can come up with for a District that only makes coal.

Their chariot is pulled by a pair of light gray horses, and both tributes are dressed in charcoal gray bodysuits. Black circlets rest on both of their heads, and the girl is wearing dark, smoky makeup. Maroon lipstick and black eyeshadow.

Not bad, all things considered.

Definitely not as cool as last year's costumes. I _loved_ those.

But, as my dad likes to say, costumes don't make the tribute. The chariot rides don't make the Games.

And I can't wait to see what else this year's Hunger Games has in store.

It's sure to be absolutely, completely incredible if Dad has anything to say about it.

* * *

 **A/N So, I've gotten several reviews talking about how Corona's going to be in the Games, and so I figured I should probably say this in case it wasn't clear: Corona isn't going to be in the Hunger Games.**

 **Sorry if that disappoints you. But don't worry, because I have other plans for Corona.**

 **Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	18. Training Day 1: Friends and Enemies

_**TRAINING DAY 1: FRIENDS AND ENEMIES**_

* * *

 **Cristina Ford, age 18**

 **District 6 Female**

* * *

I wake up long before anyone else. I've been waking up early to go see Jax for so long that the habit seems to have stuck.

I wish I could see Jax today.

Actually, I wish I could go home. But that's impossible, so I firmly shove all thoughts of home aside and change into the outfit laid out on the armchair closest to my bed. There are four armchairs in this room.

I have no idea why the Capitol people think I need so many.

Breakfast is already served when I get downstairs, but no one is there. Which, I suppose, means I get first pick of the food. That's always a good thing in my book.

I pile my plate high with pancakes and pour a generous amount of syrup on top. Syrup is a new discovery of mine. It's also my new favorite food.

An orange and two small cinnamon rolls also go on my plate, and then I pour myself a glass of creamy milk. The milk here is much better than back home. Also, back home we hardly ever got milk.

So I suppose there are a few upsides to the Capitol, but I'd still rather deal with the lack of milk and syrup than deal with the Hunger Games.

But I don't have much of a choice.

I'm just finishing my food when Jairus comes downstairs, looking miserable and sleepy. All he's talked about since the Reaping is that this has to be a mistake, and they have to send him home soon.

I tried talking some sense into him, but he's deep in denial, and he didn't listen.

I know I shouldn't care about him, but he's so young. He shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. But he we are.

So I've decided to make the best of it.

If only Jairus would do the same.

Not wishing to get into another argument with my District partner, I quickly dart for the elevator as soon as he sits down. It quickly descends toward the Training Room, and a pit starts to form in my stomach.

I don't want to have to face the Careers. Or any of the other tributes.

I don't want to see the people who might kill me, or who I might have to kill.

But I don't have a choice.

The elevator doors open, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief as I realize that there's no one else here. Except the head trainer, of course.

Now at least I've got some time to pull myself together.

As much as I can, anyway.

* * *

 **Mara Glade, age 16**

 **District 4 Female**

* * *

You could cut the tension with a knife now that all of us Careers are here. I'm not sure what's making everyone so...weird, but I don't like it. The Career pack isn't supposed to be tense.

We're supposed to make the other tributes tense.

"Sooooo," I say, in an attempt to get everyone to lighten up. "I'm Mara. That's Caspian. What are your names?"

Of course, I already know them. I've watched the Reapings. But introductions seem like a good way to break the ice.

"Selene Valor," the District 1 girl says, flipping her blonde hair. "And he's Bryan."

"Damien," the boy from District 2 says, and then gestures at his partner. "Juno."

Juno nods. If I'm being perfectly honest, she scares me, just a little. She looks incredibly dangerous, and the way she's eyeing everyone else, like she wants to hunt them, well...

It's freaky.

I don't want to get on her bad side in the arena.

Or before the arena.

Or ever, really.

"OK, I'm just gonna come out and say it," Juno says, making me jump a little. "What are we gonna do about him?"

She's pointing at Caspian.

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"He was Reaped."

Oh. Oh, no. I was hoping this wouldn't be an issue.

"I was the chosen volunteer!" Caspian yelps.

"Right, like any of us believe that," Juno says, rolling her eyes. "You're not in the pack."

Stunned silence. But no one speaks up for Caspian. I would, but, I _really_ don't want to get on Juno's bad side. Besides, the Careers will work just fine without him.

I hope.

Caspian stares at me in horror for a moment, and then his face turns stony. "Fine. Whatever. I can get by on my own."

Juno scoffs as he walks away. I feel bad for a moment, but I quickly push past it. I can't afford to feel bad for Caspian. Or anyone.

"Why?" Damien asks, sounding profoundly exhausted.

"Come on," Juno snaps. "He was Reaped. Likely as not, he wasn't trained. And even if he was, it's no big deal. We'll just find a stronger outer District tribute."

I violently resist the urge to remind her of what happened during the 70th Hunger Games when the Careers allowed an outer District tribute into the pack. That ended really badly.

Hopefully this will go better.

* * *

 **Valerian Engel, age 17**

 **District 3 Male**

* * *

I glance up from my disaster of a snare to see the District 4 boy stomping away from the other Careers. I can't deny that I'm a little bit relieved.

The fewer Careers there are, the better for the rest of the tributes.

Of course, they're probably going to pick up a strong outer District tribute or something, but I'm trying not to think about that.

I tug fruitlessly at the knot I've managed to tangle this snare into and sigh. This is not working. Doesn't mean I'm giving up though.

I contemplate trying to get the instructor's attention, but he's helping the girl from District 10, and I don't want to disturb them. So I'm stuck trying to figure this out on my own.

"Hey, District 3. You're doing it wrong."

My head snaps up and I find myself staring into the eyes of the girl from District 11. She's taller than me by several inches, and also more muscular than I'll probably ever be, so I'm a bit intimidated.

"I know," I say. "But I don't really know how do it. You'd think that after years of pulling pranks I'd be better at making traps, but apparently not."

Oh, good. I'm babbling.

She rolls her eyes. "All right, move. Let me show you."

Startled, I move out of the way and watch as she surveys my snare. Seriously, I'm good at making traps. I once managed to rig a net to fall on top of the principal at my school. This shouldn't be as hard as it is.

"This a knot," she finally pronounces, looking almost amused. "How did you even do this?"

"I have no clue," I say, because I honestly don't. "Of course, it might have had something to do with the fact that I don't really know what I'm doing. How do you know so much about snares anyway?"

For a moment I think I've overstepped, but then she sighs. "I used to set traps for Peacekeepers back in District 11."

"Like pranks?"

"Like here-let-me-break-your-leg-you-arrogant-monster."

"Oh."

Well, then. She's a rebel. Or at least something close to one. Normally, I'd get out of there because I don't want to be seen associating with a rebel (Peacekeepers have killed for less.) but I'm already in the Hunger Games.

So what the heck.

She raises one eyebrow. "You're still here."

"Looks like it." As if just hanging out with her wasn't bad enough, I decide to be even _stupider_. "Wanna be allies?"

"No," she says after a second. "Sorry."

She doesn't sound very sorry. But oh, well. It was worth a shot.

"OK. Can you at least tell me your name, though? I'm Valerian."

"Bree."

I'm about to say nice to meet you when she abruptly gets to her feet and walks away.

I sigh and look back at my snare. Or rather, my knot.

Maybe I should try a different station.

* * *

 **Audra Herdwick, age 14**

 **District 10 Female**

* * *

The bell rings for lunch as I finish up the plant identification test. I glance over at Gabriel, who is swinging an ax around at one of the weapons stations. He doesn't appear to be doing very well.

But at least he's trying.

We agreed this morning, he's going to concentrate on weapons, and I'm going to concentrate on healing and survival skills.

"Come on!" I call. "Let's get something to eat!"

Gabriel glances over at me and puts down the ax, wiping his forehead. "I'm starving."

I grin at him, grabbing his arm, and we head for the food. We sit down at a table in the corner of the room, while the Careers sit down at the middle table. I have to admit I'm little bit scared of the Careers.

Everyone is, I think.

Gabriel says he's not afraid, and maybe he isn't. Or maybe he's pretending not to be.

He's probably trying to be strong or something.

I hope it doesn't make him do anything stupid. I'd hate to lose my only ally.

Speaking of which...

"Hey, Gabriel?"

He glances up from his plate full of fried chicken and bread, looking confused. "What's up?"

"How would you feel about a couple more allies?"

There's a long pause.

"Who were you thinking?" Gabriel finally says.

He doesn't look sure about this, but I'll take what I can get. I don't want to be alone if Gabriel dies.

I don't think I'd survive by myself.

I look carefully around the room, studying the other tributes, even though I think I already know who I want.

"The girl from District 12," I say decisively. "And the pair from District 9."

Gabriel nods contemplatively. The pair from District 9 are sitting together, and I wonder if they're already allies. The girl from District 12, however is sitting alone.

"We should talk to her first," I say. "If-if you want more allies, that is."

"I do," Gabriel says. "Well, at least, I think it's a good idea."

"So should we go talk to her?"

"OK."

I grab a piece of chicken off my plate and Gabriel stuffs a slice of bread into his mouth, and then we walk over to the District 12 girl's table. She looks surprised to see us.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, um..."

And just like that, my voice leaves me. I have _no_ idea what to say.

"We were just wondering if you wanted to be allies," Gabriel says, saving me from awkward silence.

If she looked surprised before, she looks like she might fall out of her chair now. "You want to be allies. With me."

"Yes," I say. "If you want to."

She opens and shuts her mouth several times. "Well, uh...all right."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, it's not like I've had any other offers."

A short laugh escapes Gabriel's throat. "Fair enough."

"So allies?"

"Yeah, allies."

Gabriel and the girl shake hands, and hope swells in my chest.

"I'm Heather Spaulding, by the way."

"Gabriel Asturias. And this is Audra Herdwick."

Heather smiles a little as I wave at her.

"You want to eat with us?" I ask. "We have plenty of room."

Her smile widens. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

* * *

 **Thomas Spark, age 15**

 **District 5 Male**

* * *

I'm glad lunch is over. I couldn't eat anything, so I just kind of sat by myself and tried not to think about where I am, although it was kind of hard with the Careers sitting two tables away.

They were laughing and talking. It was almost like they had no idea that we're in a death match.

Or maybe they just don't care.

It's probably the second one.

I'm so screwed.

Shaking my head to clear it, I attempt to concentrate on making a plan. I'm really bad with plant identification and survival skills, but I'm OK with snares. I guess all those evenings spent weaving wires has paid off.

But I can't use weapons to save my life. Literally.

I tried to throw a knife earlier today, and I nearly impaled myself in the foot.

So I need allies that are good with survival skills and weapons. I hate the idea of using people for their skills, but I hate the idea of dying even more.

Now, the only problem is to find people who are willing to become my allies and are also good at survival skills and weapons. Quite a tall order. But I hope I'm up to the challenge.

I've been studying the other tributes. Elle, nice as she is, isn't on the table. She just doesn't have any skills.

The pair from District 10 seem to be building their own alliance, and I don't want to join them. Big alliances, while often effective, tend to draw the attention of the Careers.

And that's the last thing I want.

Which means, of course, that the girl from District 12 is out, too. Her District partner might be a good choice; he seems pretty handy with a large knife that is reminiscent of a meat-cleaver.

I wonder where he learned to use it.

My mind made up, I get to my feet and walk toward him, holding out my hand. "Hi, I'm Thomas. District 5."

The boy from District 12 looks wary, but he takes my hand anyway. "Andris. District 12."

"You're good with that knife," I say.

"My family runs a butcher shop," Andris replies nonchalantly.

Oh. So that's why.

"Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to be allies."

Andris doesn't look surprised. He must have known that that's the only reason I would have come over here.

"I'll think about it."

My stomach sinks with disappointment, but I hide it as well as I can. "OK, then."

"I'll let you know tomorrow."

I nod. "Fair enough."

As I walk away, I think that at least it wasn't a no.

* * *

 **Nikolas Floros, age 14**

 **District 11 Male**

* * *

Training is very nearly over, and I'm not sure whether to be glad or not.

On the one hand, I haven't made any allies, or learned any useful skills. At least, not really. But on the other hand, I don't have to sit through people giving me pitying glances anymore.

Just because I'm one of the younger people here doesn't mean I'm helpless. No one was giving the girl from District 10 pitying looks.

But I suppose she has allies.

Two of them.

And I don't even have one.

I have to hope things will get better, though. I don't know what I'll do if they don't.

Sighing, I get to my feet and head for one of the elevators. Bree walks in with me, and the doors shut.

I wish she'd agreed to be my ally.

She doesn't even acknowledge me on the long elevator ride, and I can hardly bear the silence. If she doesn't want to be my ally, she could at least talk to me. We're from the same District after all.

She's all I've got left of home.

Bree doesn't seem to feel the same way about me, though.

The elevator finally comes to a stop, and we walk out. Bree immediately heads to her room, and I flop down on one of the many incredibly comfortable couches.

The mentors are nowhere in sight. They're probably out getting sponsors or something.

I hope.

Most likely, though, they're both drunk somewhere, having completely forgotten about their tributes.

Good for them.

My own thoughts almost startle me. When did I get so bitter?

I suppose called to die will do that to a person.

Doesn't mean I'm giving up, though.

I can't give up.

I have to go home.

* * *

 **A/N So that's the first training day! Lots of stuff happened in this chapter!**

 **Alliance List:**

 **Selene, Bryan, Juno, Damien, Mara**

 **Gabriel, Audra, Heather**

 **Loners (for now):**

 **Raena**

 **Valerian**

 **Caspian**

 **Elle**

 **Thomas**

 **Cristina**

 **Jairus**

 **Maple**

 **Darius**

 **Lillith**

 **Aegon**

 **Naya**

 **Douglas**

 **Bree**

 **Nikolas**

 **Andris**

 **I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	19. Training Day 2: Strength in Numbers

_**TRAINING DAY 2: STRENGTH IN NUMBERS**_

* * *

 **Maple Sylvester, age 14**

 **District 7 Female**

* * *

Darius is gone when I wake up.

He was gone yesterday, too. I think he's avoiding me, but I haven't managed to talk to him long enough to find out.

Whatever. I don't need him.

I don't need anybody.

My mentor, Johanna Mason, asked me yesterday if I wanted allies. I told her no. I think she was surprised. Maybe even impressed, judging from the look she gave me.

Shaking my head to clear it, I get out of bed and slip on my training clothes.

I don't really feel like eating, so I just grab a buttered roll on my way to the elevator. It's not like wasting time's gonna make this any easier.

The escort calls a good-bye to me, and I wave back. Johanna waves vaguely while spiking her coffee with what I think is some kind of alcohol. She doesn't drink as much as our other mentor, but she does drink.

The elevator doors close, and I slide to the floor, burying my face in my hands. I have to be strong.

I can't show weakness. I'm going to be fine.

I just have to get through today and tomorrow, and then...

Well, the interviews. And the private sessions, of course, but I'm mostly worried about the interviews.

I'm dreading the interviews more than the actual Games, I think. I can't put on a show. I'm not clever or sexy or funny or dangerous.

The only things I can do well are climb and annoy my friends, and I don't think either of those things are going to get me sponsors.

I take a deep breath as the elevator comes to a stop, shoving my worries to the back of my mind. I need to take this a step at a time. And today's step is to get through this day of training.

That I can do.

I step out of the elevator with my most confident expression on my face.

I can do this.

* * *

 **Caspian Vale, age 18**

 **District 4 Male**

* * *

I spent most of yesterday in a state of numb shock and anger.

But mostly shock.

Why did the Careers kick me out? More importantly, why didn't Mara stand up for me?

I suppose I should have expected this. But I was so busy worrying about the Games that I wasn't worrying about being a part of the Careers. Big mistake, apparently, seeing as I now have no allies and no plan.

My mentor was pretty surprised by the fact that the Careers kicked me out, so he was no help.

I'm so screwed.

At the moment, I'm sparring with a trainer, wielding my trident, trying to forget my problems. Trying to forget that, without an alliance, I'm probably dead. Trying to forget that the rest of the Careers will probably go after me in the bloodbath.

It's not working.

I have just managed to pin the trainer down, the points of my trident at his throat, when I hear someone cough behind me. I whip around and see the girl from District 3 standing behind me.

She starts clapping slowly, a smirk on her face.

"Nice job," she says. "You're good."

I toss the trident aside and stare at her. "What do you want?"

"To ask you something."

I wait for her to say what it is, but she doesn't, so, after a couple of minutes, I snap, "Well?"

She smiles again. "Do you want to be allies?"

"No."

Her smile doesn't drop. "Come on, District 4. I know the Careers kicked you out."

"So does everybody else."

"Which means you have no allies, and, since you're obviously trained, you probably have no plan."

I'm slightly stunned. She's very smart. And perceptive.

That could be dangerous.

"Am I wrong?" she asks.

"No. But what kind of skills do you even have?"

Her smile morphs into a smirk, and she steps closer to me. "You'll have to accept my offer to find out."

"Not a chance. Show me first."

She steps away. "I just did."

"What -?"

I'm cut off as she holds up her hand, my bookmark dangling from her fingers.

"How did you -?"

"I have very specific skills. I'm good at climbing, too, and I'm probably a faster runner than you."

I'm silent for a moment. Maybe this girl would make a good ally after all. She's smart and she has skills.

Hope blossoms in my chest. Maybe I have a shot after all.

"All right, give me back my bookmark and you've got a deal."

She grins and tosses it to me. "I'm Raena, by the way."

"Caspian."

We shake hands.

I don't know if I can trust Raena, not really, but I do know that I have a better chance with her on my side.

I'm willing to bet she's thinking the same thing.

* * *

 **Bree Waters, age 18**

 **District 11 Female**

* * *

I've been swinging a sword around for most of the morning. It's not too different from the large saws we use to cut rotten branches off of fruit trees back home, so I think I'm all right at it.

The look of shock on the trainer's face is priceless.

He was probably expecting me to impale myself, the idiot.

Not everyone from the outer Districts is helpless.

Someone taps me on the shoulder right as I impale a dummy, which is lucky, because otherwise I might have impaled whoever it is instead. I wheel around, glaring.

"What?"

The girl from District 2 is standing there, arms crossed. My stomach sinks slightly, but I don't let it show. Instead I just raise one eyebrow. Wow, all the Careers are here.

Great.

"We have an offer for you," the District 2 girl says, looking smug.

Oh, _no_. This had better not be what I think it is.

"We want you to join the Career pack!" the girl from District 4 says, a huge grin on her face like she already knows I'll say yes.

Except I won't. The Careers are awful, and I don't want allies anyway.

But even if I did, I would _not_ join the Careers. They are the worst of the worst, in my opinion. Aside from the Capitol, of course.

"Yeah, how about no."

The looks on their faces are even better than I expected. The District 2 girl in particular looks like she's been smacked in the face.

"W-What?" the girl from District 1 asks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean no. N-O, no."

The District 2 girl seems to get over her shock, face twisting with fury. "You do realize that if you're not with us, you're against us."

"I was against you to begin with," I say, steel in my voice.

A noise of fury escapes her throat, and she turns on her heel and stomps off, the rest of the Careers following her. The girl from District 4 gives me an exaggerated pout over her shoulder as she walks away.

I scoff. They're all idiots.

The bell rings for lunch less than a minute later, and I'm relieved. I've worked up quite an appetite.

I sit down at a table, and an Avox serves me a bowl full of what appears to some kind of noodle soup. I take a sip of it. Beef, I think. It's incredible how lavish everything in the Capitol is.

But I'm not about to turn down free beef noodle soup, so I start to eat. I'm about a quarter of the way through my bowl when someone sits down across from me.

"Hi. Can I sit here? My District partner got herself an ally so she kicked me out," Valerian says, looking slightly embarrassed.

Apparently I can't get rid of this guy. At least he's nice enough.

"I won't ask you to be allies again," he adds.

I roll my eyes, fighting back a smile. "Fine. Whatever."

"Thank you."

I roll my eyes again as he starts to eat. But at least I got some valuable information out of this. So his District partner has an ally, does she?

A quick glance over to where the girl from District 3 is sitting tells me that she's allied with the boy from District 4. Huh. I never would have guessed.

It's a smart move, I suppose. But still. He's a Career.

I wouldn't ally with him if my life depended on it.

"So," Valerian says after several minutes of silence, "I saw the Careers talking to you earlier. Were they trying to get you to join them?"

Why he wants to know, I have no idea, but I suppose it can't hurt to tell him. "Yes. I said no."

"I got that, from how mad the District 2 girl looked."

A tiny smile tugs at my lips. I'm glad I made her angry, even though it means the Careers will most likely go after me during the bloodbath.

"Aren't you worried?" Valerian asks. "About the Careers, I mean. They're gonna be after you, now."

"I know. I'm not worried."

Valerian opens and closes his mouth like a fish, and I have to squash a smile again. Seriously, what is the matter with me? Only my family is supposed to be able to make me smile.

Not random kids from District 3.

"You're a lot braver than me," he says finally.

"I'm sure you're brave, too," I say before I fully register that words are coming out of my mouth.

What the heck.

I decide that it's safer to say silent for the rest of meal, but I'm a little bit sad when Valerian leaves.

It's very lucky that he didn't ask me to be allies again.

Because, strange at it seems, I might have said yes.

And I can't afford to have allies. They'd just slow me down.

I _definitely_ can't afford to care about anyone.

So that's settled.

I don't care.

I _can't_ care.

* * *

 **Andris Balthory, age 16**

 **District 12 Male**

* * *

I've been thinking about what to say to Thomas ever since yesterday.

It would be good to have allies, but I don't know if Thomas has any skills. Or if he'll stab me in the back. Or if he'll abandon me when things get hard.

There are so many unknowns. I don't know what to do.

But I think I'm going to tell him yes.

After all, he seems nice. He seems trustworthy. And I don't want to be alone. I was going to ask Heather to be allies, but before I could she allied with the pair from District 10.

Besides, I don't really have any other options.

Thomas is at the camouflage stations, idly painting swirls on his arm. The instructor appears to be taking a nap.

"Hi," I say, and he looks up. "I want to be allies."

He grins hugely, relief written in every line of his face. "Really? Thank you!"

I smile a little bit, feeling a little more hopeful. "Hey, you wanna learn how to use a knife?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. You won't be an expert, but I can show you the basics."

"That'd be great!"

My smile widens as we head toward the knife station. One of the instructors, a tall woman with tan skin and dark red hair, walks over to us.

"I remember you," she says, pointing at me. "You're not bad."

"Uh, thanks," I say.

She nods. "Let me know if you need help."

Thomas and I nod, and she walks off. It's nice that she remembered me.

I wonder how it'll take her to forget me if I die.

Wow, that was a dark thought. I shake my head to clear it. Thinking that way is not helpful.

I need to concentrate.

Thomas is a pretty fast learner. He'll probably never be good with a knife, but at least now he knows how to not stab himself.

Which was a distinct possibility before.

He's grinning, bright and proud, and I feel like I may have made a friend.

I just hope this doesn't blow up in my face.

* * *

 **Naya Montello, age 15**

 **District 9 Female**

* * *

Douglas and I have been sticking close to each other ever since we got to the Capitol. I don't actually know if we're allies or not, but we're all each other has left of home.

I don't think either of us are ready to let go of home yet, so together we stay.

I'm taking the plant identification test for the fourth time when the pair from District 10 and the girl from District 12 walk up to me and my District partner. I honestly don't know what they want, but I hope they're not just here to tell me to leave.

Because I'm not going to.

"Hi," the girl from District 10 says brightly. "I'm Audra. This is Gabriel, my District partner, and Heather, from District 12."

"Hey," Douglas says.

"Are you two allies?" Gabriel asks.

"Yes," I say. "I think."

"We're allies," Douglas says, giving me a smile.

I smile back.

"OK," Heather says. "So we were wondering if you two wanted to join our alliance."

I blink. "But that would mean...that would be five people. That's almost as much as the Careers."

"That's sort of the point," Audra says. "We figured that the best way to protect ourselves from the Careers is strength in numbers."

I can't really argue with that.

"Can we have a minute?" Douglas asks, sounding wary.

I suppose he has a right to. This sounds almost too good to be true. A way to fight the Careers? We'd be crazy not to be a little bit suspicious.

"What do you think?" Douglas asks once the three of them have moved a little ways off. "Should we join their alliance?"

"I don't know."

"It sounds good, but..."

"A little too good."

"My thoughts exactly."

I pause for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Douglas and I are already allies. We could, probably, make it on our own. But if the Careers start hunting us...we don't stand a chance.

With more people, though, we might have a shot.

I nod to myself. "I think we should do it anyway."

"Me too," Douglas says with a sigh, and I know he's thought this through just like I have. "We really don't have a better option when it comes to protecting ourselves from the Careers."

"Exactly."

"All right," Douglas says, raising his voice so that the other three can hear us. "We'll join your alliance."

Audra cheers, Gabriel smiles, and Heather laughs out loud. Maybe they were just as concerned about what our answer would be as we were.

Maybe they actually want us as allies, and not just as human shields.

That's a nice thought.

"Well," Gabriel says. "Training's almost over. What do you guys want to do?"

"I'm gonna finish my plant identification test," I say.

"And I was going to do it after her," Douglas adds.

"Camouflage," Heather says.

"I'll stay here and do the test after...what's your name again?" Audra says, looking at Douglas.

"Oh, right," he says. "I'm Douglas."

"Naya," I say.

"Oh, that's a pretty name," Audra says, eyes going wide. "Naya. Does it mean anything?"

"Not that I know of."

She nods, and then her smile is back and just as brilliant. "It's still pretty. Much prettier than my name."

"I like your name," Gabriel says.

"Awwww, thanks."

A tiny smile tugs at my lips.

I think this was a good choice.

I hope so, anyway.

It can't be worse than going it alone.

* * *

 **Lillith Gunderson, age 15**

 **District 8 Female**

* * *

My District partner is up to something. I can just _tell_.

I'm very glad that training is almost over for the day, because everything here is stupid. Swinging a sword around shouldn't be hard, I mean, seriously, it's just a long piece of metal, but no, there's technique and crap, apparently.

I think the instructors were just lying to get me to leave.

Also, I have no allies, and while I don't need any, it still sucks. I mean, people should want to be my ally. I'm smart. I'm fast. I can do things.

But no, instead, people like that stupid girl from District 9 are getting all the allies.

Honestly.

I hate everything.

When Atala announces that training is over for the day, I sprint to the elevator and close the doors before Aegon can get in. I stick my tongue out at him, and then laugh at his furious face.

He's awful and I hate him and he deserves to have to wait for the stupid elevator.

The elevator ride is horribly long, and by the time it's over I'm in a thoroughly bad mood. As if I wasn't before, what with the no-one-wanting-to-be-my-ally situation and also the training-sucks situation.

I flounce out of the elevator and stomp up to my room, flopping down on the bed.

Why doesn't anybody want to be allies with me? Do I seem that useless?

Oh, well. I'm sure the Gamemakers will see what I'm capable of. I'll probably get one of the highest scores here.

Aegon would _hate_ it if I scored higher than him. He thinks he's _so_ superior.

I'll show him.

I'll show everybody who doesn't want to be my ally exactly what they're missing out on.

I'll show the whole Capitol that I'm the tribute they should be sponsoring.

I'll show them all.

* * *

 **A/N Only one more day of training to go, and then it's the private sessions!**

 **Alliance List:**

 **Selene, Bryan, Juno, Damien, Mara**

 **Raena, Caspian**

 **Andris, Thomas**

 **Audra, Gabriel, Heather, Naya, Douglas**

 **Loners (for now):**

 **Valerian**

 **Elle**

 **Cristina**

 **Jairus**

 **Maple**

 **Darius**

 **Lillith**

 **Aegon**

 **Bree**

 **Nikolas**

 **I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	20. Training Day 3: Change of Plans

_**TRAINING DAY 3: CHANGE OF PLANS**_

* * *

 **Damien Pinot, age 18**

 **District 2 Male**

* * *

I wake up to the all-too-familiar sounds of Juno having a shouting match with her mentor.

This happens literally every single day.

As awful as it sounds, I really can't wait until the Career pack breaks up so I can kill her. I'm pretty sure all of Panem would congratulate me for ridding them of such a menace as Juno Montgomery.

But I have to bide my time.

And I'm patient. I'll wait.

Sighing deeply, I get out of bed and put on my training clothes. I really don't want to go downstairs for breakfast with all the yelling going on, but at the same time I'm really hungry.

Hunger wins out, in the end.

By the time I get downstairs, they've stopped shouting. Juno looks incredibly sulky as she picks angrily at a piece of pineapple. Her mentor is gone. I know better than to ask what happened.

I don't want to set her off again.

I serve myself some toast with marmalade and a cup of coffee, as well as some of the chocolate-covered raisins I've grown so fond of. I eat quickly, anxious to get training over with.

It's not like I need to train, not really. I've done plenty of that.

A few more days won't make a difference.

But it always pays to keep in shape, I suppose. I know I'm going to need every bit of my training to survive in the arena.

"Are you done yet?" Juno asks snappishly.

"Yes," I say after a minute, drinking the last of my coffee. "Let's go."

"Took you long enough."

I choose to ignore that comment. I've been ignoring a lot of things about Juno lately.

We get into the elevator, and the doors close. Juno's shifting restlessly, anxious to get to training. Why I can't imagine. There's really nothing there for either of us.

As much as it pains me to admit it, Juno is _very_ good at what she does.

I have to admire that.

The doors open, and Juno races out like a bullet from a gun.

I shake my head.

Only one more day of this.

I can handle that.

* * *

 **Aegon Blackwood, age 16**

 **District 8 Male**

* * *

Today's the day I put my plan into motion. Today's the day I join the Careers.

If only my idiot District partner would go away. For some reason, she's decided to shadow me today. I wonder if she knows I'm up to something.

Probably not. Likely as not, she's just lonely and wants some company.

She threw a tantrum over not having any allies yesterday. As if anyone's stupid enough to ally with _her_. Hopefully she'll figure out that she's doomed pretty soon so I can get on with my plan.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lillith once again, lingering behind a pillar. Just then, a trainer walks past and bumps into her. A delighted smile forms on my face as my District partner wheels on him, eyes flaring with fury.

What a stroke of luck.

She'll probably be yelling at the unfortunate trainer for the next several minutes, which means I have time.

The Careers are over by the sword-fighting station, so that is where I'm going. My target is the girl from District 2, seeing as she seems to be the leader. She's who I need to impress.

I take a deep breath and paste on a confident smile. "Hello!"

All the Careers turn and stare at me. The girl from District 2 drops her sword and raises one eyebrow.

"What do you want, District 8?" she asks.

"I just wanted to use the swords," I say, raising my hands innocently.

"Fine. Whatever."

A victorious smirk spreads across my face. She didn't kick me out. That's good.

I can sort of use a sword, due to the fact that I've had some training. I'm not very good, seeing as I don't have many muscles, but I'm fairly quick. My father says I'm very good.

I can feel the Careers watching me, as I swing the sword around, slashing at the dummies. I miss a few times, but my swings connect most times. The girl from District 4 makes an impressed sound as I slash open a dummy's chest.

This is going perfectly. Except for the fact that this sword is heavy and swinging it is much harder than I thought. But oh, well.

When I finally put the sword down, even Juno looks slightly impressed. "You're not terrible at that, District 8. I'm surprised."

I'm a little insulted, but I can swallow down my pride for a little while in order to become part of the Careers. Then I'll be running the show.

"Do you wanna join our alliance?" the girl from District 4 suddenly blurts, and the District 1 girl gasps.

"What?" I say, pretending to be surprised.

"Yeah, _what_?" the girl from District 1 says, eyes hard.

"I think it's a good idea," the District 2 girl says, studying me. "I mean, it's not like we've got any better prospects."

"That's true," the District 1 girl says, wrinkling her nose.

"So it's settled, then!" the District 4 girl chirps. "Do you want to join our alliance?"

"Of course!" I say. "Who would be crazy enough to turn down an opportunity like this?"

I know who, of course. The girl from District 11. But she is a rebellious fool, and she'll be dead soon anyway.

"Great!" the boy from District 2 says, but I can see that his smile is fake. "Welcome to the team!"

I'll have to keep an eye on him.

But it's not as if he can do much to me anyway, not until the Careers break up, at least.

And I'll be long gone when that happens.

I'm winning this thing, and no Career is going to stop me.

* * *

 **Raena Medakan, age 17**

 **District 3 Female**

* * *

Hanging upside down from a rope net, I reach out carefully for the metal rungs of the ladder. My fingers curl around the cold metal, and then I kick my legs out of the net and flip onto the ladder.

I hear Caspian's short gasp below me, and I smirk as I fly down the ladder, planting my feet on solid ground.

"Beat that, Fish Boy," I say.

"Your nicknames are getting progressively worse," he responds. "Fish Boy? Really?"

"Would you prefer Cassie?"

"I hate you."

"Thanks."

Just then, the bell rings for lunch, interrupting yet another playful bantering session. Sometimes, hanging out with Caspian reminds me of hanging out with my friends back home.

But I can't afford to get attached. We're business partners, he and I, and nothing more. I'll leave him if it suits me, and he might leave me, although I think he might be too honorable for that.

Today's menu consists of baked potatoes slathered in sour cream and butter, with hot rolls on the side and chicken legs. The chicken legs have been sprinkled with some kind of herbs, and I have no idea what they are, but they're delicious.

Caspian watches me with something approaching amusement as I attack the food. I can't help it, really. I never really know where my next meal is going to come from, if it comes at all, so whenever there's food in front of me I eat as fast as I can.

"You're going to choke if you keep that up," my ally says mildly, and I glare at him.

"Shuf u'," I say through a mouthful of potato.

"What?"

I swallow. "Shut up."

"Ah. I thought that might have been it."

"At least I don't eat like a princess."

"Excuse you, I do not eat like a princess."

"Yeah, you do. Look, you're even cutting your potato into neat little chunks."

He glances down at his plate and flushes. "Yeah, well...shut up."

I burst out laughing, and Caspian starts laughing too after a second of attempting to scowl.

I think, that if the two of us had met under different circumstances, we might have been friends. Real ones, not just allies. But these are not different circumstances, and this is a fight to the death.

I remind myself of that even as I laugh.

No attachments.

I have to get home.

Have to.

There's no margin for failure.

* * *

 **Jairus Muldoon, age 13**

 **District 6 Male**

* * *

I don't really understand why everyone seems to be insisting that I'm going into the Hunger Games. This joke is starting to get really old, and I'd like to go home soon.

Of course, some of these training stations are fun, like the rope climbing, but there's plenty of stuff I'd rather be doing at home, so any time whoever orchestrated this whole thing wants to call off the prank is fine by me.

I'll bet it's Vivienne. She probably wants revenge for the whole Reaping dress incident. Well, congratulations, sis, you got me. But seriously, can we be done now?

Right now, I'm just sort of sitting in a corner, waiting for...well, I don't really know what I'm waiting for, but there's really no point in training because I'm _obviously not going into the Games_.

Because my sister is playing a joke on me because I ruined her dress.

Yes. Exactly.

"Um, hi," a voice says, and I glance up to see an unfamiliar girl standing there. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," I say. "There's really nothing better to do, seeing as I'll be gone in a couple of days."

The girl furrows her brow. "Don't say that, you're not dead yet."

"Dead? Of course, I meant I'll be going _home_ in a couple of days."

"What?"

"Because my sister's playing a prank on me. See, I ruined her Reaping dress so this must be her revenge. But I'm not actually going into the Games. Anyway, I'm Jairus, what's your name?"

The girl looks weirdly wary, now, and I'm not sure why. Maybe she's jealous because I'm going home and she isn't.

"I'm Maple. And you're crazy."

"No, I'm not," I say with a pout. "I'm going home. You'll see."

"Suuuuuuure," Maple says, drawing out the word. "OK, I'm gonna go. Have fun...hanging out in Bizarro-World."

And then she's gone. Yup. Definitely jealous. But who knows? She might win. I'll make sure to cheer her on once I'm back home.

Because I'm going home.

I'm not going into the Hunger Games.

There's no way.

* * *

 **Heather Spaulding, age 16**

 **District 12 Female**

* * *

I never imagined, when I was Reaped, that I would end up with so many allies. But here I am, sitting around the plant identification station with more allies than I know what to do with.

Gabriel is telling us the story of the time he rescued a calf from a flooding river, and Audra interjects from time to time. I've never been to District 10, so it's all fascinating to me. I think I'd like it there, from what I've heard.

Just then, Naya finishes the plant identification test (scoring a 89%, pretty good) and then it's my turn.

I'm not very good with plants, but I get that knowing which plant is which could mean the difference between life and death for me once I'm in the arena, so I don't intend to take this lightly.

Of course, after I get the first three questions wrong, Douglas takes pity on me and starts helping. A plant with pale green berries pops on the the screen and he shakes his head.

"That's myrhock. Poisonous."

It turns he's right, and Audra gives him a thumbs-up. My cheeks flush, just a little. I suddenly very much want to prove that I don't need Douglas's help with this.

A different plant pops up on the screen, this one dark and spiky, and I actually recognize it. My mother made soup with it once, and since no one died, I'm pretty sure it's safe.

I'm right.

Naya gives a little whoop of congratulations, and I start to smile.

"Huh. I would have bet money that that was poisonous," Gabriel says, looking impressed. "How'd you know it was safe?"

"My mom made a stew with it once."

"Oh."

"What's called?" Audra asks curiously.

"Thistletyne," Naya says. "It's pretty good in stews and soups, actually. Your mom must be a good cook, Heather."

"She is," I say.

A powerful wave of homesickness almost sweeps me off my feet. I miss my family. I miss my home. I miss sewing with Melody.

I wonder if I'll even be alive when she has the baby.

Nope, not going to think about that. Think happy thoughts.

I click a button on the plant identification test, and, miraculously, I get it right. Naya and Audra both start clapping, and I manage a smile.

I just have to stay here, in this moment, and not think about anything else.

Like the upcoming private sessions.

Or the interviews.

Or the Games.

All things I should not think about.

Which easier said than done, but I'm going to try my best.

If I don't, I don't know what I'll do.

* * *

 **Elle Croshart, age 15**

 **District 5 Female**

* * *

I am both relieved and terrified that training is over after today. Relieved, because I suck at basically everything, except maybe annoying the trainers, which, while fun, is not going to help me in the arena. Terrified, because, well, I haven't learned _anything_ that will help me in the arena, and it's much too soon for private sessions, and I don't know what I'm going to do for interviews.

Atala announces that training is over for the day as I'm attempting to get down from the rope that I climbed without fully considered what I was doing. Everyone runs for the elevators like kids back home used to run for the doors of the school, but I'm stuck on the rope, so I end up having to wait for the elevator for a while.

Finally, an elevator comes back, and I jump into it, eager to leave. But at the same time very much not wanting to.

I spend the elevator ride in a state of nervous energy and overwhelming exhaustion, simultaneously, which is...confusing.

I'm so done with all of this, but there's no way out.

I practically run out of the elevator as soon as it comes to a stop, only to collapse immediately onto a couch. There are about twelve of them.

This one is made of some kind of slippery fabric that feels really nice but is probably a pain to try to sit up straight on.

I can't help but wonder why anyone would make a couch that's only good for lying down on. That's what beds are for, right?

I think I'm spiraling. Or, more accurately, I've been spiraling since the Reaping, and now I'm just spiraling _more_.

Also, I have a headache. And I kind of want a drink. I've only ever had alcohol twice before; once on a dare, and the other time at a party. But both times made me lightheaded and really happy, and I want to be lightheaded and happy right about now.

Who knows, maybe if I drink enough, I'll forget where I am.

Because my mentor and Thomas's mentor are both useless drunks, there's vodka and brandy and wine and beer all over the place. I pop open a bottle of champagne and take a drink.

It bubbles and I almost laugh with surprise. I take another drink and I _do_ laugh this time.

If the escort finds me, well. It won't be pretty.

But I can't really bring myself to care.

I can't bring myself to care about much of anything except my impending death.

Funny how that works.

* * *

 **Alliance List:**

 **Selene, Bryan, Juno, Damien, Mara, Aegon**

 **Raena, Caspian**

 **Andris, Thomas**

 **Audra, Gabriel, Heather, Douglas, Naya**

 **Loners (for now):**

 **Valerian**

 **Elle**

 **Cristina**

 **Jairus**

 **Maple**

 **Darius**

 **Lillith**

 **Bree**

 **Nikolas**

 **Next up is the private sessions, which I hate, but after that is the interviews, which I love, so yay! Also, I'm sorry this is so late.**

 **I hope you liked it, and please review!**


	21. Private Sessions: It's All About Power

_**PRIVATE SESSIONS: IT'S ALL ABOUT POWER**_

* * *

 **Rani Glyniss, age 29**

 **Gamemaker**

* * *

As if my life wasn't sad enough already, I've actually been _looking forward_ to the private sessions. Mostly because I'll get to be in a room without any of my family members.

Ever since my mother showed up at Mitzi's party (apparently to 'reconnect', or some garbage), I haven't been able to get rid of her. Or my father. Or Mitzi. For some reason, all of them seem to have decided that it's time to bury the hatchet.

Only I don't want to bury the hatchet. I've grown quite attached to the hatchet.

But they won't just _leave me alone_.

I shake my head to clear it and take a gulp of some kind of alcohol. I don't even know what it is, and at this point I don't care. It's my third glass of the day and the tributes haven't even started coming in yet.

Plutarch eyes me with concern. "Are you sure you should be drinking that?"

"Yes," I say. "Believe me, it's entirely necessary."

He doesn't look like he believes me. It's still true, though. Alcohol is rapidly becoming my new best friend.

The first tribute, the boy from District 1, comes in, and I blink rapidly, trying to get my eyes to focus. I don't remember his name. He goes straight for the sword-fighting station and asks for a trainer to fight.

A large, muscular man agrees to fight him, but it's obvious that this is a barely even match. The boy is _good_. Really good.

He's got the trainer flat on his back within minutes.

The sound of clanging metal is giving me a headache, though, so I'm glad when Seneca Crane dismisses him. In my first notebook, I write: _'Strong. Good at sword-fighting. Score of 9.'_

In my second notebook, I scribble some vague nonsense about big muscles. I'm pretty sure I'll be horrified about this once I'm sober, but right now I really don't care.

The District 1 girl comes in with a far-too-bright, far-too-fake smile, and I groan into my glass, which is now filled with some bright green cocktail that, quite frankly, looks poisonous. I'm drinking it anyway.

She swings a sword around and throws some knives, all the while smiling like she's some kind of model.

I write in my first notebook: _'Good at weapons. Typical District 1 girl. Score of 9.'_

In my second notebook: _'Fake as anything. Seems sort of ditzy. I don't like her.'_

And then I draw a random picture of ladybug. I am definitely getting drunk. Good. Then maybe I'll forget about my hilariously awful family issues.

Except it's not really hilarious.

The boy from District 2 comes in and, surprise surprise, swings a sword around. He's got a lot of brute strength and plenty of skill, which I write about in my first notebook, along with giving him a score of 10.

I briefly forget that my second notebook exists and by the time I remember, the girl from District 2 has come in.

And boy, is she unforgettable. Even in my almost-full-out-drunk state, I can tell that she's a contender. She absolutely demolishes a trainer with a sword (which does not help my rapidly worsening headache), throws some knives, and ends by impaling several dummies with a spear.

In my first notebook, I write: _'Really good at weapons-ing. And stuff. Score of 10.'_

And in my second notebook: _'She's probably craaaaaaaaazy.'_

The District 3 girl walks in as I'm inspecting my latest drink; this one sunset-colored and tasting like oranges and sugar. And alcohol. Can't forget about the alcohol.

She performs some rather fabulous gymnastics on the net hanging from the ceiling, and then she stabs a couple of dummies with a knife. I'm impressed. District 3 has had some pretty strong tributes over the past couple years.

I think years, anyway.

I give her a score of 7, and then I write about how she looks cunning in my second notebook. There's also an entire paragraph about how she reminds of a spider with the wall-climbing thing.

The boy from District 3 isn't quite as impressive as his District partner, but he still does well. He makes a trap that actually works, and then he runs the obstacle course.

He gets a score of 5, and I've somehow managed to misplace my second notebook, so I start looking for that. It seems to have dropped behind my chair, so I spend several minutes trying to scoot under it before I finally remember that I can just reach behind it.

I'm so drunk.

I also miss both tributes from District 4, although another Gamemaker whose name escapes me tells me that they both did stuff with tridents. Well, she doesn't use those exact words but that's about all I get out of it.

I give them both scores of 9, because that number is nice. I'm not quite sure why.

District 5 is...interesting. The girl is awful; she fails the plant identification test and she seems almost as hungover as I'm going to be pretty soon. She gets a score of 2. The boy, however, is really smart. I think, anyway, but at this point anyone who can manage to open a bottle without literally falling out of their chair looks smart to me.

But he stabs some dummies with a knife, or dagger, or whatever. He also does something with a wire and electricity. I don't know what it is but it turns a dummy into blackened ash, so it's dangerous.

I give him a score of 6, and my second notebook is becoming steadily more filled with strange ramblings about all the tributes.

I'm definitely going to regret this tomorrow. Or possibly later today.

Thinking is starting to hurt, so I just take swing of my new drink and tell my brain to shut up.

The pair from District 6 are frankly rather sad. The boy just asks when he's going home and then stares vacantly into space for a bit after Mr Crane tells him he's not going home any time soon. He gets a score of 1. The girl at least tries, but she's not very good with the bow and arrow she's trying use, and, after smacking herself in the face with it, she gives up.

I give a score of 3 and write about how she's brave for trying.

I think I start crying once, but it's hard to tell.

Everything is kind of fuzzy.

District 7 goes by in a blur that I can't remember for the life of me. Except for the fact that the girl got a score of 4, which is impressive for a reason that it hurts to try to remember.

District 8 is a bit of a disaster. The girl throws a temper tantrum and the boy almost impales a trainer and then says that it was the trainers fault. But at least he tried to use a sword, so I give him a 6.

The girl gets a 2 and a rant about she's spoiled. Also I don't like the look of the boy.

He seems shifty.

Shifty. That's an interesting word.

I miss both District 9 and District 10 due to an incident with a tray of cream pies and the fact that I can no longer stand up properly, which I have just now discovered.

Basically I wind up covered in cream. I have to go change my clothes. But the pair from District 9 apparently both got a score of 4, and so did the girl from District 10. Her District partner got a 5.

The girl from District 11 is very interesting. Mostly because she almost kills a trainer with a sword and is then kicked out, but she still gets a score of 7 and a long paragraph about how she's got spunk.

The boy from District 11 gets a score of 4, which is a large letdown from his District partner, who was very cool and I think I'm rooting for her. But then again I also decided that the ice sculpture swan was going to come alive and chase me earlier, so I'm really not sure if I should be trusting my instincts right now.

District 12 is fairly uneventful, although the girl does demonstrate that she knows how to sew up a wound and the boy can use a knife pretty well. They both get scores of 4, which is pretty good for District 12. Although they've also had some pretty impressive tributes in recent years, like the girl I ended up rooting for who died near the finale and now I'm sad.

I always get very tired when I'm drunk, so it's no surprise that, when the private sessions are over, I barely make it back home before passing out on my couch.

My last though before I fall asleep is _I really hope I'm not too hungover to go to work tomorrow._ And also, _I should probably look over that second notebook once I'm sober. It'll probably give me a good laugh_ _._

* * *

 **A/N So normally I hate private sessions but this was kind of fun to write. Because drunk Rani is hilarious.**

 **Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please review!**

 **P.S. I'm sorry this is kind of short, but I really don't like private sessions.**


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